Between A Rock
by Gandalf3213
Summary: Ben and Abigail have tried for years to have a child and finally choose to go through the system and take in a foster kid. They come across Riley Poole, fourteen years old, who is afraid of...everything, it seems. Can they help him get over his past?
1. And A Hard Place

**A/N: My second NT fic, but my first ever involving foster care. Please, please, if you know anything abotu the system contact me. I have no idea, so I'm just making it up from things I've heard and read. As always, I don't own the story, though I'd be pleased as all heck if i did. **

"_The road goes ever on and on, down from the door where it began." __**Lord of the Rings**_

Riley Poole sat in the small, cramped room, trying not to fidget. He kept hearing Pop's voice in his head. "What's wrong with you, boy? You having a mental breakdown?"

Pop thought he was a real joker. It was Pop who had had a mental breakdown at Riley's birth when Riley's mother had died giving birth to him.

But right now, Riley was trying not to think of Pop. He went on his tip-toes and peered out the window, shoving his broken glasses back up his nose. He hated waiting. He already was…scared…about meeting these people. And going home with them. And staying with them.

Which was just cowardly. If Pop hated one thing, it was cowards, and a fourteen-year-old who's afraid of going to a new place --- a better place --- was definitely a coward.

Head in hands, Riley breathed in deeply. He wanted a computer. Or a book. Or something to take his mind off this endless _waiting_. He didn't even notice when Stephanie sat down next to him.

Stephanie was a social worker. For all purposes, she was _his_ social worker. She had been with him from the beginning, months ago, when the game had finally been up and he got taken away from Pop. Stephanie was the one coaching him on what to say for the trial in a couple of months. She said that she personally knew the people he was going with.

"They're great. Famous, even. You might have heard of them --- Benjamin Gates, and his wife Abigail. They found a big treasure a couple of years ago."

One drawback to Stephanie --- who was a great person, sweet and all --- was that she insisted on talking to Riley as if he was about six. Of course Riley knew who Benjamin Gates was. Though he would never say it to the man, the treasure hunter was his hero. Riley had always dreamed of doing something important in his life, and finding a treasure that had been lost for hundreds --- thousands--- of years was _important_.

Not that Riley would ever be able to do that. He was just a computer nerd who happened to get in a lot of trouble because he was just too good at hacking into stuff. Important stuff. Like the school's main computer or, hypothetically, of course, the state records for juvenile charges, making sure his record was on top when he heard the Gates were looking for a foster kid.

Hypothetically.

"Stop fidgeting." For a second, Stephanie used the same voice Pop did, and Riley suddenly found he couldn't breathe. _"Don't move, boy."_ Always, that same cold voice. "Here they are now."

The door opened, admitting two people. The woman was small, with blond hair tied in a tight ponytail. Her blue eyes seemed too big for her face, which instantly lit up into a glowing (genuine?) smile when she saw Riley.

But Riley was looking at Benjamin Gates. He was tall, and older than Abigail by at least ten or fifteen years. His hands kept moving --- first in his pockets, then folded in front of him, then at his sides, until they finally settled behind his back. He didn't look at Riley at all, in fact, he seemed to avoid looking at him.

Abigail was doing enough looking for both of them. Riley felt himself grinning at her insanely happy smile. She seemed to be trying very hard to stop herself from jumping up and down with excitement.

Stephanie placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed once, hard, which meant, "be quiet and let me talk, or you'll scare them off with your geeky-ness."

Okay, that wasn't exactly what it meant, but it was the general gist. And judging from the ferrety way Benjamin Gates was acting, it wasn't far off the mark. The scaring off, that is.

"Hello, Ben, Abigail, this is Riley." Suddenly, as he always did, Riley felt self-conscious in his too-white shirt and black slacks, state-issued. He wanted to be anywhere but here.

"Hello, Riley." The warmth in Abigail's voice startled and pleased Riley. No one had ever talked to him that warmly. Teachers tended to ignore him, or sigh when they looked at him like, _There goes Riley again, who is a loser and no one will talk too_. Maybe Pop talked to him sometimes in that tone, but it was always fake, and it was always because he wanted something.

But Abigail --- Mrs. Gates --- wouldn't get anything beneficial out of having Riley in her home, except for maybe positive press, famous couple adopts JD, or something along those lines. But no, she was smiling and had tilted her head slightly as she studied him, eyes kind and gentle.

"You can call me Abigail, this is my husband Ben." Maybe she thought Riley wouldn't notice if she elbowed Benjamin Gates in the ribs to make him look at Riley. "We're..well, we're hoping you'd let us take you with us for a while."

There was, as always, no suggestion of anything permanent. A temporary situation, one where he'd have to work his butt off to please and be liked, otherwise who knew how they'd act? That's how the other kids at the foster home described it, anyway. One of those kids was only eight years old, and he'd already been to eleven homes. Cute kid. A little scared, maybe, and twitchy, but a cute kid.

Riley tried to smile, he really did, he tried to put on a show, tried to please, but Ben Gates refused to look at him, and the act fell short. "Umm…" he tried to remember what Abigail had just said. "Umm…yeah. Yeah, I'd really like to stay with you." He didn't have a choice, of course, he was a ward of the state, they'd put him wherever it was most convenient.

Abigail smiled and, hesitantly, carefully, touched him on the shoulder. Though Riley had seen it coming, he couldn't' quite repress the shudder that ran through his body. Pop always touched his shoulders, though not always that gently. He was glad most of his scars had healed into dull strips of pain; it would have hurt worse if Abigail had unintentionally touched a fresh bruise.

As it was, Abigail jumped back, then turned to Stephanie. "You and I should fill out the necessary paperwork, right? Leave the boys to get better acquainted?"

Riley didn't like that one bit. He shook his head, slightly, imperceptibly, but Stephanie caught it. She knew, as most people in the home knew, that Riley did not like being alone in a room with a man. She was one of the few who went out of her way to avoid that.

"Maybe we should go over it all together? So everyone's clear on everything?" she nodded to Riley, who picked up his suitcase (it mostly was a place for his software, which he had managed to steal from various schools, and a couple of books, though it did have one old T-shirt), and followed the social worker inside.

The papers had been looked over on previous visits, ones that didn't involve Riley. He watched with fascination as his well-being was handed over in a few signatures. Abigail made a point to explain the process to Riley as they went through it, and Riley pretended to be interested even though Stephanie had done the same thing not two hours earlier. He was, luckily, sitting diagonally from Benjamin Gates, who still, in an hour, hadn't looked at him.

Then it was over. The Gates said they'd wait outside the building for Riley to say goodbye to his friends. He hadn't made any friends, and no one had been inclined to become friends with him. What was the point when everyone would be gone in a few weeks, in a few months? The only person Riley looked at now was Stephanie. He felt something in his throat looking at her, though he tried to pretend he had no idea what it was.

Luckily, it was Stephanie who made the first move. She leaned down so they were eye to eye, which for Riley wasn't even five feet off the ground. "You'll be fine. They're good people, and I'll visit you in two weeks. Deal?"

Riley nodded, though the lump refused to go away. Stephanie leaned forward, hesitated, then wrapped Riley in a hug that he didn't have the heart to shy away from. He was turning to mush of the inside. "I know it's terrifying, but you're so strong, little man, I believe in you." She released him and started to stand up, then looked back down.

"You're worth it." She murmured. "Don't ever forget." Then she turned, her heels clicking as she left.

Riley stared after her, stared at the back door, thinking, then started out front, where the Gates were waiting. With a sigh and a forced smile, he picked up the suitcase and walked away.

**First chapter…what do you think?**

**Please, please review. We'll love you forever!**


	2. Don't Want Any

**A/N: First and foremost, I have to say oh-my-freakin'-God to the amount of people that reviewed. Thank you so much. We had no idea how people would react to this extremely AU spin-off of NT, but apparently you all like it. Good. We like it to. Keep reviewing, pretty please, just to let us know if we're on the right track.**

"_Beer is living proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy." __**Ben Franklin (it made me smile)**_

Benjamin Gates had always wanted to be a father.

He had sworn, when he was a kid himself, that when _he_ became a dad, he wouldn't be nearly as mean or limiting as his own father had seemed to him. He had everything all planned out --- he'd go to every one of his kid's parent nights, be there for all the concerts, events, plays. He'd get his child into history fast, and read them tales of Ben Franklin and Paul Revere while other kids were still into Grimm's Fairy Tales.

It's funny how things don't go according to plan.

No one could ever say exactly why Abigail couldn't seem to have a child. She was the right age, though a little small in stature. Still, child-bearing should have been easy. It wasn't. Three years of unsuccessful attempts and miscarriages later, Abigail suggested they adopt. Through a series of bizarre circumstances, they'd ended up in training to be foster parents.

Now, to set the record straight, Benjamin Franklin Gates had always wanted to be a father. He had never in his wildest dreams imagined he'd be a…babysitter.

Sitting in the car, Ben snuck his fifth look at the kid in as many minutes. He seemed harmless enough, short and thin, long fingers and short hair and a jumping, twitchy quality that would have made Ben smile in other circumstances. He'd made it clear to Abigail that he did _not_ want an older child, especially not a teenager and preferably not a boy. So of course he got a fourteen-year-old boy.

Abigail was chattering on about the house and the school Riley would be attending. Her talk was too chipper, too fast to be real, and Ben placed a hand on her leg, a signal to slow down. Glancing in the rear-view mirror again, he decided to satisfy his curiosity. "Who is known as the Father of the Constitution?"

Abigail sighed and shook her head, though Ben could see the barest smile on her face. Riley's head popped up, his face stricken with such a look that Ben wished he could take the question back, comfort the boy, tell him everything was alright. But he wasn't going to coddle a fourteen-year-old. "Err…wasn't it….James Madison?" The correct answer came out uncertainly, though Riley's eyes were large and pleading. _Like me_. They said. Even Ben could read that.

"Which president dropped the atom bomb?"

The answer came quicker this time, though the tone was still quiet, unsure, "Truman?" A question for a question.

Well, Ben had to admit grudgingly, at least the kid wasn't completely hopeless. "How many presidents are only children?"

Riley actually smiled, just a slight twitch of the lips, but a smile nonetheless. Ben couldn't figure out exactly what he hated about that action. "None. They all had siblings."

Ben pursed his lips and remained silent for the rest of the ride home. He kept looking back at the child, trying to figure out what was off about him. Ben was often called in to teach a seminar at colleges and occasionally high schools. Every teenager he'd come in contact with had all been basically the same; loud, uninterested, in perpetual motion, flirting and waving to each other.

_He's not moving_. It was odd for someone to be still for so long, yet the only part of Riley that moved was his hands, his long fingers tapping quietly against his bag, and his head, which kept glancing from the door to Ben then Abby then the window, around and around.

Scarred. Uncertain. Frightened and lonely. Those were all words that could describe Riley, so why didn't Ben want to listen to them?

Riley would not be his child. They'd already put in for adoption, and though the process was slow (not to mention costly), Ben had high hopes that they would have a child of their own by the time the year was over. Then they wouldn't need Riley any more.

That thought brought Ben up to the house. He got out of the car, leaving Abigail to escort Riley up the stairs. Still, curiosity made him turn around to get a glimpse of the kid's face as he looked at the house. A wide _O_ of surprise, eyebrows lost in matted hair, eyes disbelieving. Untrusting. "Wow. You…you have a really nice house Mrs. Gates." He glanced at Abigail, shook himself, corrected, "Sorry, I'm sorry, Abigail. Mr. Gates." He looked up sheepishly at Ben, instinctively knowing to address Ben by his title. And Ben didn't correct him.

Temporary, fleeting, a compromise. Riley would be gone when the new baby came. He would have outlived his usefulness of appeasing Abigail, who was still getting over her second miscarriage. She had been in her second trimester. The death of the fetus had been a hard blow.

Abigail had put a roast in the oven and the house smelled wonderful. Ben instinctively waited to see Riley's reaction to the interior of the house. He watched as the boy's eyes slid over the large plasma-screen television and settle on the stacks of untidy books. Saw the boy's eyes lit up at the stacks of papers scattered across the desk and floor. Watched as his mouth literally dropped open at the sight of two computers, one large and new the other smaller, slightly used but still in perfectly good working order.

With a small push, Abigail whispered in Ben's ear, "Show him his computer. I'll get dinner set up." She left them then. To bond? Riley, who had been looking at the computers and books and paperwork with wide eyes suddenly jumped and cowered as the door to the kitchen closed with a slight thud.

Ben didn't know his voice could be gruff, but that's how it came out as. "C'mon, kid," he walked forward impatiently as Riley scrambled to pick up his small pack and follow Ben, staring at the ground. Ben paused in front of the small computer, "This is yours, if you can make it work."

From Riley's expression, Ben had just given him a car or the keys to Buckingham Palace. He ran his hand reverently over the keyboard, glanced furtively at Ben, then quickly jabbed a few keys making the ancient monitor come to life.

Ben turned away from boy and computer. He wouldn't tell Riley that that computer had been his ten years ago, that he'd gotten two others since then, that he was about to throw it out. He watched with a mixture of incredulity and awe as the boy accessed the computer's central mainframe and booted it up properly.

"Boys, dinner!" The call shattered the tenuous peace between the two and Riley looked up at Ben, down at the computer and his small bag of things, biting his lip. "Th-thank you, sir. Very much. I didn't expect….well, I didn't expect anything like this. Your house is beautiful…the books…the computer…" he searched for words and couldn't find any, ending with a simple, "Thank you, sir."

The "sir" was too proper for Ben's taste, but once again he didn't correct the boy. Better to be too proper than too loose. The boy would be gone in a few months. With a terse, acknowledging nod, Ben started off for the kitchen, Riley hurrying in his wake.

"Who was the second president of the United States?" Ben asked quickly, pausing before opening the door to the kitchen.

No hesitation, no question, "John Adams." Riley looked him in the eye, showed the barest hint of a smile. Maybe he sensed Ben's animosity because he quickly looked down again.

Ben stared at the boy for a second longer before disappearing into the kitchen, trying to convince himself he didn't care about this boy with the unaccountable knack for history. What did he care? Riley wasn't his child.

**Good? Bad? Questions? Comments? Gripes? Concerns?**

**Review, please!**


	3. Bored of Education

"_Do you need anybody? I just need someone to love." __**The**__**Beatles**_

Riley paced back and forth, looking between the clock on the mantel and Abigail, who was in the kitchen. He didn't want to be late for his first day at a new school on top of everything else.

In the past, Riley had always looked forward to going to school. He had lived within walking distance, so no bus picked him up. If he….wasn't up to walking…then he couldn't go. There was no way Pop would take him.

"Ben says he hopes you have good first day. He'd be here but he has a meeting with his techie." Riley tossed Abigail a smile, because that's what she wanted, then resumed his pacing. Who was she kidding, anyway? Ben barely looked at him, avoided him as much as possible during the three days he'd been staying at the Gates mansion. Not that Riley blamed him. He knew he was a freak.

He wasn't all that worried about the other kids. Who cared about them, anyway? But he did hope that his teacher was female. Riley was honest enough with himself to admit that he'd never get any work done with a man breathing over his shoulder. It just didn't work that way.

_Why'd you do that to me, Pop?_ The instant he thought the words he wanted to take them back. As always, he just assumed Pop was there, able to read his thoughts, ready to strike. It had always been that way --- as if Pop knew when Riley was thinking something inappropriate or mean. Then he'd be punished.

He was pushing overdrive now. Riley's feet continued to wear the carpet as he walked the same strip in front of the door. Back and forth. Back and forth. Nervously, his hand flew behind him, resting on his lower back where the long stripes became a center of mutilation. He had almost no skin on his back. He wouldn't let the Gates know that, if they didn't already. Even if Ben didn't actually want him, he'd still let him live there, right? Still gave him a computer and food, which was more that Pop had ever done.

"Well, I guess we'd better get going." Abigail emerged from one of the back rooms, carrying a purse and the car keys. Riley automatically jumped up straight, barely feeling the burns of the bruises and cuts on his side.

"Oh. You don't have to drive me, Mrs. --- Abigail ---. I would have…I could just walk. It's no trouble." He hated it when people did these kind of things for him. Didn't they know he was worthless? Pop had told him himself, and Pop never lied.

Abigail looked at him strangely for a second before breaking into a tired smile. "It's no trouble, Riley. What kind of…guardian…would I be if I didn't drop you off on your first day of school?"

_The normal kind_. Riley thought ruefully as he followed Abigail into the small, very expensive car. On his lap was a new backpack, courtesy of the Gates, filled with several notebooks and a few pencils, courtesy of Stephanie, his social worker.

Abigail put her hand on Riley's leg and Riley almost jumped. Almost. He was getting better at things like that, especially around Abigail. Ben just made him….nervous. But he still tensed a bit. Abigail's hand was gone in a second. "You'll come straight home from school, okay? I would pick you up but…well, you'll see. You don't want to be picked up by an old geezer like me."

"You're not old, Abigail." Riley muttered, looking at his knees. He wasn't supposed to talk to girls, but Stephanie and Abigail were okay. Still, he definitely wasn't allowed to tell the woman who was looking after him that she was pretty hot by teenage male standards.

Abigail smiled at him. "Thanks, Riley, but I am. Hot chocolate?"

"What?" They were at a coffee shop. "No, thank you, I don't think I could eat anything." Only Pop ever ate breakfast. Riley ate dinner, sometimes, when he was good. But he'd eaten two meals at the Home and the Gates wanted to feed him _three_. He just couldn't stomach it all.

Abigail nodded. "Just some for me, then." She started to turn off the car, then seemed to think better of it. "I'll be in there a few minutes. Want to pick some music?"

"Err…sure. Okay." Riley stared at the radio as Abigail left the car. It wasn't as if he didn't have a music preference. He did. It's just that in his entire life no one had asked him to pick his favorite music. He didn't even know if any radio stations carried it.

Riley jabbed at the radio, moving past the rap/hip-hop/top 40 trash his schoolmates had liked. Past the country, though he lingered there longer. Country was okay. Past the heavy metal and talk shows. He finally landed on a station that was playing _Hotel California_. He might have heard that song somewhere, once or twice, but it was the opening chords that soothed him. He smiled to himself, leaning back into his seat.

Abigail got back in the car and looked at Riley in surprise. In the three days that the boy had been living with her and Ben, he'd never looked like that. He almost looked…happy. "I wouldn't have pegged you for a classic rock type of person." She commented as they pulled out of the parking lot. "That's Ben's favorite, too."

"Oh?" Riley stared at the radio, mesmerized by the music.

Abigail took a sip of the hot chocolate. Ben always teased her, saying that grown-ups usually drank coffee or tea. Abigail usually stuck her tongue out at him. "So…you'll come home right after school, right?"

"Yes, ma'am." Riley looked at her, the barest hint of a laugh on his face. "I'll be okay, Abigail."

Abigail nodded, though her hands tightened on the wheel. They were passing the preschool/kindergarten now. She looked out at the young girls. One was wearing a tu-tu and skipping, holding her father's hand. A pang shot through her --- why did everyone else get to enjoy a child when she wasn't able to?

"Abigail?" She turned towards the voice. Riley. "Why….?" He seemed about to ask a question, then thought better of it. "I'll see you after school, okay? Don't worry. I don't think the kids will eat me." He looked out the window just as they passed a group of very large jocks. "Or maybe they will." He groped for his backpack. "I think I'll just stay away from anyone who looks like they want to spit on and/or kill me, huh?"

He began to duck out of the car when he went back in, looked straight at Abigail. "Do you mind if I ask you a question?" He looked nervous. He always did when he asked for something. "Why are you so sad?"

Abigail just stared at him for a second. "You are a very perceptive child." She finally said.

Riley nodded. "I get that a lot." He closed the door then, and Abigail realized he'd never been expecting an answer.

**So basically Ben has issues, Riley has issues, and Abigail has issues. **

**As always, please review. And happy new year!**


	4. Being Late

"_Your chances of getting hit by lightning go up if you strand under a tree, shake your fist at the sky, and say 'storms suck!'." __**Anon**_

Turns out, socially inept, emotionally damaged geeks can make friends, too.

Riley was to….well, inexperienced….to approach any member of the opposite sex, even those that weren't textbook hotties. He kept his head down as the teachers introduced him to staring classes and would take a seat towards the back of the classroom. This happened for three periods.

During fourth period English, Riley scurried towards the back when he was suddenly sidetracked. "You can sit here, if you like." Riley stopped and stared at the speaker, a short, fine-boned boy with high cheekbones and a direct gaze. His black skin was sharply contrasted by very light green eyes. "Your name's Riley, right?"

Nodding, Riley took a seat next to the boy, three rows from the front of the classroom. He recognized this unexpected friend as Darrel Williams. He'd been in two of Riley's other honors classes. The teacher started a lesson about the Odyssey_, _something the kids would obviously be reading. Riley attempted to pay attention to the finer points of the Greeks and Trojans was interrupted by a piece of paper fluttering onto his desk.

_Dude,_ It read_, I know how much it sucks being the new kid, I moved here three years ago and no one even looked at me for months. My name's Darrel, by the way. What your lunch period?_

Riley glanced at his schedule, then wrote, hastily, _Eighth. It says Cafeteria 2. How big is this school?_

He glanced up at the teacher who seemed keen on this guy Agamemnon, and carefully passed the paper back across the aisle, waiting for the boy's reaction. With Pop, he hadn't been allowed to make friends, had been too stupid to know how, anyway. But it was different here. Right?

Darrel tapped his shoulder after the class was dismissed and they walked out of the room together. "I don't have eighth lunch, but can you meet me after school?" Riley bit his lip, then shrugged. He wouldn't be that long. Abby wouldn't even notice. "Good, I'll meet you in the library. Look for me at the table in the corner."

Riley smiled, a little dazed at the very prospect of having someone to talk to. Before, after school had been an exercise in subterfuge as he attempted to pack away his free lunch to eat for supper. If he didn't wrap everything right, or a piece slipped out and got Pop's attention…well, Riley only needed one meal a day, anyway.

The library turned out to be a small, secluded building on the corner of the campus. Riley smiled as he walked in, glad to head the hushed voices and rustling of paper. The library was always one of his favorite places, its quiet familiarity a safe haven for the self-proclaimed geek.

Darrel was sitting at a table in the corner, face pressed close to a computer screen. He turned and smiled at Riley. "Hey. You like computers."

Riley smiled at the understatement of the year. "You could say that." He was happy to be able to talk, it seemed like he hadn't used his voice all day. "What game is that?"

Darrel shifted so Riley could come closer. "It's an RPG I'm making. It started out as a project for my science class last year and kind of…evolved. Just a bit."

Riley marveled at the graphics of the game, his fingers itching to try it out. Creating video games was not his forte, preferring to try his hand at hacking, but he was familiar with the concept. "How do you play?"

Darrel smiled, white teeth flashing, eyes lighting up at the prospect of the game. "Oh, it's easy. Watch." With a few clicks, they were at the menu, and then they played.

It's amazing how fast time flies when you have someone to spend it with. Darrel showed him how to play the game while Riley made some tentative suggestions as to how to make it better. The two laughed together --- laughed, something Riley hadn't done for months, for years.

It was five o' clock when Riley finally looked up at the clock hanging near the library entrance. His face fell fast, breathing quickening even as he stood. His heart started beating double-time. The only thing Abigail had said to him, the only order she'd given, was to come straight home after school. And he couldn't even do that right. "I-I have t-to go." He stammered, throwing his backpack over his shoulder.

"What?" Darrel also looked up at the clock. "Sure, okay, I'd better go, too. Where do you live?"

Riley named the address, adding, "You don't have to walk with me. You probably need to get home, too."

"Are you kidding? I've never seen their house before. That's sweet place, my man. I didn't know the famous Gates had kids." He examined Riley for a second, delicate hands waving in his excitement.

"Oh, I'm not..." He felt the need to set the record straight but didn't want to be shunned by this one and only friend. "I'm just living with them for a while." He explained as they left the school building. They weren't the only ones still hanging around the school. Several kids lounged on picnic tables in groups of three or four, apparently unfazed by the brisk January air.

Darrel seemed to understand. He tactfully dropped the subject, instead, "Hey, I never asked you where you moved from."

"Northern Pennsylvania, a town called Mountaintop. It's very pretty, very secluded. It was just me and Pop --- my father." Riley had no fond memories of the place. In fact, leaving the town was one of the things he was not upset about.

"No sibs? Lucky. I have three little brothers. Triplets, if you can believe that. They get in my hair all the time. Actually ---" He checked his watch. "I'm supposed to pick them up from day care in twenty minutes."

"Then go." Riley said, perplexed that this boy was even giving him the time of day. Darrel flashed him a smile, showing very white teeth. "Yeah, okay. I really want to spend all my time with three four-year-olds. Anyway, I already said I wanted to see the Gates mansion."

They were at the house now, or at the driveway, which should be counted as its own street it was so long. Riley had spent the last few minutes in a subdued kind of fear, but now he was in full-on panic mode. All he could think about was Pop, and what he would do if Riley disobeyed one of his orders. But the Gates weren't like that, were they? Riley couldn't help but have doubts, especially about Mr. Gates…

The front door opened before the pair got to it, and an extremely worried Abigail stood there, mouth pinched into a straight line. "Maybe you should go, Darrel." Riley said quietly, every muscle tensing for the expected punishment.

Darrel looked between Riley and Abigail, then shrugged. "See you tomorrow, Riley." Raising his voice, he added, "Have a good day, Mrs. Gates."

The woman acknowledged this with a small nod of her head. Riley shot up the steps, not wanting to provoke the woman further. Before the door was closed words were already tumbling out of his mouth.  
"I'm sorry." He said, eyes cast down. Sometimes Pop liked this, not looking at him. Sometimes he thought Riley was being defiant.

"You had me worried, Riley. I was on the phone with the school, to make sure you had already gotten out. Ben told me to call the police if you didn't show up by five thirty." Her voice wasn't angry so much as tired, worried.

"I'm sorry." Riley said again, pleading. "I just lost track of time. Darrel ---" He took a deep breath. "There is no excuse for my behavior, ma'am."

Abigail's face softened a little. "Why don't you go to your room, Riley? Do your homework, if you have any. Ben will talk to you when he gets back from his meeting."

Riley flinched at the thought. "Yes, ma'am." He went up the stairs to the room he had been given, out of earshot by the time Abigail thought to call, "It's Abigail, Riley." He didn't care, in any case. His entire body quaked as memories of the last fourteen years came rushing back to him in a wave of terrible feelings. For the next four hours Riley sat on the carpet in his room, not moving, barely breathing, and crying.

**Yeah, so….Riley's a little scared at the moment. Poor baby. I'll save him in a chapter or two…**

**As always, please review. **


	5. Worries

_According to Madame Pomfrey, thoughts could leave deeper scarring than anything else. **Harry Potter**_

Riley cowered in the corner, the unwilling recipient of a barrage of memories…

…He was three, and Pop had asked him to make dinner. Riley hadn't been able to reach the shelf in the cabinet that had the peanut butter, so he thought he'd make 'psghettis' instead. The water had boiled over and woken up Pop, who hadn't been very happy.

When his little hand was held over the flame, Pop had explained in a much-too-calm voice that he was only teaching him for his own good…

…He was six and going to school for the first time. He didn't go to learn, Pop had already explained that he was too dumb to do that. No, he went so they wouldn't attract attention. Mountaintop was a small town, and people tended to talk. No one in school noticed he was any different. No one noticed the bruises…

…He was eight, his class on a fieldtrip. They got out of school for a whole day, but in order to go you needed permission. Riley, in one daring, idiotic moment, had forged Pop's signature. He saw llamas, elephants, a huge, majestic giraffe.

That was the first night Pop used food (or lack thereof) as a punishment. Riley didn't eat or go to school for four days.

…He was ten, learning how to hack into computers. He taught himself, telling Pop that he had a tutoring session after school. Pop believed him, commenting on how dumb his son was, not knowing his son was in advanced classes. By this time, Riley's thoughts were that if he was going to get a beating (or worse), it might as well be for something he'd actually done.

He became alarmingly proficient at hacking into the school directory and erasing the number of missed days….

The worst one, the night Pop came into eleven-year-old Riley's room. That memory wasn't as vivid, wasn't even as painful. It was more of a blur as he tried to block out the sounds that had come to him in his nightmares. The creak of the bedsprings, the warning, slurred by drink, "Don't make a sound."

But that night, even the obedient son couldn't help but scream.

Ben walked in the door, feeling the irritation building inside of him. They had had this kid for all of three days and he couldn't even go through school without making Abi worry. "Where is he?" Ben hissed at a tired-looking Abigail. He was seriously regretting this whole foster-care thing. The adoption should go through in a few months. They could get rid of the kid and wait until then…

"Calm down, Ben." Abi's eyes flicked towards the staircase, the upstairs rooms. "He's up there, I told him you'd talk to him."

"Tell him to pack his things, more like. Did he say where he was for two hours?" Ben was irritable, frustrated, and exhausted. He was so _tired _of this feeling, the hopelessness that welled inside of him at the thought of the not-quite substitute for their unborn child.

Abigail spoke quietly, calmly, though her hands shook. "A boy walked him here, his age, not very tall. They didn't mention what they were doing."

Situations bubbled in the historian's mind, impossible ones for their small charge. "I'll talk to him."

"Don't scare him." Abi said quietly. "And don't be too harsh. He hasn't been out of the house much, I bet he just wanted some time with friends."

Ben ignored her, the pain coming back. No child of his would have run off without giving Abigail or himself a hint of where they were going, no child of his would have scared their mother. More proof that Riley wasn't his child.

Ben shouldered open the door to the guest room, which had recently transformed into Riley's room. It was spotless, bed made, floor clean, the few clothes piled neatly on the shelf. But no boy.

Frustration built. So the kid had run off _again_. Ben was about to turn around, tell Abi to take the kid back, tell Stephanie they couldn't handle it, not now, not with a real child on the way. He was about to say all those things when a low sob broke the silence of the room.

Ben took a step forward and Riley shot up, standing on the other side of the bed. He'd been sitting on the floor, in the corner. Before Ben could say anything – like the obvious, that Riley had been crying, the boy shuddered, stuttered, "I'm sorry, sir."

His head was bent, looking at the floor, ashamed, afraid. Anything Ben would say, any reprimand he would give, all harsh words died in his throat at the sight of this child, barely a teenager, positively shaking in fear. Of _him_.

"Riley." He didn't know what to say past that, couldn't say anything as his voice broke on the name. He cleared his throat, took off his jacket, loosened his tie, removed his belt. Anything to get his hands moving.

Ben didn't miss Riley's expression as the belt came off, or his flinch as it was laid on the bed. Frightened, nervous eyes raced around the room, landed on a hanger. Another shudder and the head was lowered once again.

"Riley." A revelation, literally _just _dawning on the pitifully ignorant man, making Ben shake his head. Abused, that's what the file had said. Nothing more. No elaboration. Taken from his father, his only relative. "Riley." He hadn't actually said the boy's name, not to him. He had done everything in his power to make the boy know that he was unwelcome, that he was unwanted.

A coherent sentence finally formed. "You should have told Abigail if you were going to be late." The sentence sounded lame, beyond useless. Obviously the boy knew that, he looked so guilty. "Borrow someone's cell phone. You…you know the house number, right?" This oversight made Ben wince.

Riley nodded. "Yes, sir. I'm sorry, sir, I didn't notice the time."

"What were you doing?" Ben was beyond curious, always the nosy explorer…

Riley turned away, stared at the belt, at the hanger, winced. "Nothing important, nothing that should have kept miss Abigail waiting. I'm sorry." How many times had the boy said that?

"But what were you _doing_?" Ben leaned forward, making Riley take an almost involuntary step back.

The boy seemed to be debating whether to answer or apologize again. "I was helping a…friend," the boy positively glowed at the word, even in his fear, "with a video game he designed." An afterthought, and eyes got wider, if possible, and met Ben's, imploring, "It wasn't his fault! It was mine. I'm sorry."

Resolving to get to know the boy better, and to take a closer look at his file, and to maybe beat the living daylights out of that so-called 'father', Ben said, "Well, just…call. We don't want to keep you cooped up in the house, or to keep you away from friends, but Abigail was really scared for you."

He turned to leave when a bony hand grabbed his shirt. Ben turned quickly, seeing Riley shrink back, "I'm sorry," the boy said, automatically. Ben stared at him, saw a question in his eyes, waited.

"Aren't you going to…" he seemed to be searching for a word before concluding, embarrassed, "beat me? I… deserve it." Again eyes flicked to the belt, to the hanger in the closet, then to Ben, seeming to size the man up.

A lump grew in Ben's throat and he wished it away. Minutes before he'd been angry at this boy, angry at the world for taking away a real child and giving him such a poor substitute. Now…now he felt protective of him, caring. "Look at me." The words were harsher than he meant and Riley flinched, winced, shrank again.

"I will never hit you, not with a belt, not with a…a _hanger_." A flash of something in Riley's eyes. The boy didn't believe him. "And no one should. Hey, look at me." He made sure his grip was gentle as he touched Riley's face tipped it up. He felt the cold skin tremble, "You don't deserve that."

The something in Riley's eyes grew until Ben could identify the emotion. Hope. And Benjamin Franklin Gates, the famous treasure hunter, walked out of the room, more moved by the small boy's shaking than by an entire chamber of riches.

**I absolutely hated writing cold/mean Ben. Oh, to answer a question I've gotten a surprising amount of times…Riley simply wasn't there for the first treasure hunt. The entire story happened, minus Riley. I know, terrible. **

**As always, please, please review. **


	6. Male Bonding

_Until you have a son of your own . . . you will never know the love beyond feeling that resonates in the heart of a father as he looks upon his son. You will never know the sense of honor that makes a man want to be more than he is and for his son. And you will never know the heartbreak of fathers haunted by the personal demons that keep them from being the men they want their sons to be. __**Kent Nerburn**_

Ben didn't know why he hadn't noticed it before, but the kid was _really_ thin.

Okay, so he did know. He had been a jerk, a cold, mean, scum of the earth man who had just wanted to get the whole charity case over and done with for Abigail's sake.

But in the three days since Riley's sudden disappearance and Ben's revelation, the older man had begun talking to the boy and came up with some surprising discoveries.

For one, Riley was brilliant. Not just smart, or interesting. He was a genius, especially with computers and anything to do with numbers. Riley had already, timidly, asked Ben if he wanted any help with the research Ben had had scattered across the room. And he'd positively glowed when Ben accepted the offer.

For another, the kid had nightmares. Night_ terrors_ might be a better word, because Riley never remembered (or claimed to never remember) what he'd been dreaming about. The first time Ben woke up, he'd been about to fall back to sleep when he heard crying, then a scream.

Flying into Riley's room, he'd found the boy with his back arched painfully, face screwed up, hands flailing to ward off an invisible attacker. When Ben had tried to touch him he'd said the words that had begun to wear a hole into Ben's Grinchy heart.

"I'm sorry." Always that, no matter what happened. "I'm sorry."

And Ben had been unable to help. He was even afraid to Riley for fear of making the dream worse. At a loss for anything else to do, Ben began to talk about the only thing that made sense anymore; history. As his story wound on (he was discussing his favorite person of all, Benjamin Franklin), Riley's tremors and moans abated, quieted, until he lay with one hand grasping at Ben's shirt.

Ben had sat there all night, careful not to move, just looking at Riley. That's when he came to his third revelation.

Riley was really thin. From his high, delicate cheekbones to his jutting collar bone to the twig-like arms and legs. Staring at the slight boy curled against him, something welled up inside of Ben. Like a soap bubble, dancing and fragile, Ben was careful not to examine the emotion less it pop and dissipate, but he did do something about that strange feeling.

He cooked.

Abigail was gone for an extended stay in DC. She had waved goodbye to the two males, hugging Riley gently and kissing Ben's cheek, instructing him to play nice. So Ben was on his own in the huge kitchen.

His father hadn't been much of a chef and Ben's teenage years had been spent learning a kind of eclectic cooking style that involved as many microwaved and boiled foods as possible. That morning, however, Ben decided on French toast.

He had extracted himself form Riley's grip early that morning when he was sure his movement wouldn't wake the finally resting child and padded his way into the empty kitchen. After putting on a CD (Boston, turned low so as not to wake Riley), Ben began to probe the kitchen.

There was a loaf of bread in the cabinet and a dozen eggs in the fridge. With a bit of exploring he was able to find vanilla hidden behind some old Halloween candy. The comforting actions of flipping the bread and the familiar strains of _Amanda_ let Ben settle into a kind of groove.

He'd been an ass lately, and he knew it, yet even with his many hints and comments that Riley was not welcome in the house Riley had never raised his voice, never said anything back. He was almost _afraid_ to do so.

So Ben had a plan to try to get the boy used to living with him. They had the whole weekend to themselves in a kind of all-male environment, so they'd make the most of it.

A small sound from the doorway made Ben look up mid-flip, causing him to nearly loose the toast. "Morning, kid." Ben greeted, making a conscious effort to keep his voice low and gentle. This elicited a small, tired smile from the teen who was looking curiously at the array of ingredients.

"Umm… like French toast?" In the light, Riley looked even worse, too thin frame, too short, eyes too large and scared and still, impossibly, curious. All Ben had done was make Riley know he was unwanted, blustering and banging. All Riley did was watch and learn and love.

A stretch, a yawn, and too-small shirt lifted to expose flat stomach and protruding ribs. Kid really needed these carbs. "Thank you for making it, it smells delicious, but I've never tried French toast."

Ben was ashamed to say that his mouth literally dropped open at this revelation, even more ashamed that he actually dropped a piece of toast on the floor. "Never tried French toast?" Ben repeated, picking up the fallen bread.

Riley's smile broadened, became radiant he hovered near the stove. "No, sir. Guess I've been missing out."

Not only was the boy practically emaciated but he was looking kind of green, too. A bit of sun should improve his condition. "Well, have you ever been to a baseball game?"

He'd meant to present this in a more refined, composed way, meant it to be flippant as if he didn't care one way or the other, but the sheer joy he felt at seeing Riley's face light up at the mention of this was something Ben never wanted to miss.

"Never, sir. I've played some in school, though." Riley's eyes flashed in excitement at the coming game.

"I have tickets for today, if you want to go. It's a bit of a ride out to Shea Stadium but it should be a good day. It's warm." Ben was really not good at this, but this fumbling peace offering was greeted with ill-constrained enthusiasm.

"Really?" Riley looked as if he hardly dared to believe it. "Thank you, sir, that'd be wonderful!"

Oh. They'd have to fix that. Ben loaded a plate up with three pieces of French toast, several fresh strawberries, and a glass of OJ. "One condition, kid." Was it his imagination or did Riley look different now, scared, deflated. "Call me Ben."

"Only if you stop calling me kid." Riley said daringly, perking up at once and taking the plate from Ben. "Thanks again, it really does look fantastic."

Ben put together his own plate and carried the syrup and his coffee to the table. "So you've never actually been to a game?" Some of his best childhood memories were centered around baseball. They'd gone to Veterans Field almost every weekend during the season. His father had been a wreck when the place was demolished.

Riley peered at him from over a forkful of toast. "No. And I kind of…I never saw one, either. Not major league. Sometimes I'd watch the older kids play during recess."

Never seen a baseball game? Not even on television? "Well, we'll remedy that today. If you like it we could probably go again, there's still a couple of weeks left in the season." Later, Ben would ask him if he'd ever gone to a museum. They weren't that far from Philadelphia.

Riley was staring at him with a careful gaze, undisguised adoration in his eyes. Uncomfortable with the stare, Ben looked down at the paper, asking quietly, "Do you like French toast, Riley?"

"I like green eggs and ham." Riley said quietly, his voice sing-song. "And I like it with a mouse and in a house." Ben stared at him for a second before letting out a barking laugh. Riley laughed too, quietly. "Yes, I love it. Thank you."

"No problem." It was shaping up to be a good day. Ben would educate Riley in the field of baseball, tell him the lore of the teams and the players. Maybe he'd find out something about the kid's past, like why he'd never seen a baseball game or why he had nightmares.

A question died on Ben's lips as he looked up to Riley's hacking cough. Small eyes behind round glasses clearly said, _I'm sorry_ just before the boy vomited French toast all over the table.

**Oh, I'm mean. There's no way they could have gone to a baseball game, anyway. We're more football types of guys. **

**Please review, or I might do something drastic, like let Riley die of pneumonia. **


	7. In Sickness

"_Nothing's perfect. The world isn't perfect. But it's there, trying the best it can, and that's what makes it so damn beautiful." __**Fullmetal Alchemist**_

Benjamin Gates had faced off against men with guns, defended his tarnished family honor, and discovered one of the greatest treasures known to mankind without missing a beat.

A fourteen-year-old boy, skinny and pale and a hundred pounds soaking wet, completely threw him.

After the disaster at breakfast, Riley had seemed to completely shut down. He had managed to make it the ten feet to the living room couch before crashing, trembling, leaving Ben to stare on helplessly. His plan had suddenly changed and Ben Gates did not do well with change.

Remembering the things his parents had done for him whenever he was sick, Ben got a heavy wool blanket to throw over the kid and…that was it. Surely there was something more he could do? But Ben ended up sitting by Riley's side, watching as the boy shook with a ferocity that was sure to tear him apart.

_This is why you're not ready to be a father, Ben_. A snide voice inside him commented nastily. _You don't even know how to take care of a cold!_

Ben shook his head once and the voice was gone, though the terrible, slimy feeling it had brought with it did not disappear so easily. Maybe he wasn't ready to be a father. Maybe he never would be.

Abigail's miscarriage had been so sudden and so late that they already had gifts from distant relatives piled up in a closet in the back hallway. Ben and Abby had already been thinking of names, had already fallen in love with the child they'd hoped to receive. Can you love someone you've never seen?

And then getting Riley...well, Ben had made sure that the boy knew he was unwelcome, unwanted. And yet, maybe they _needed _him. Needed a reminder that while losing their child was a terrible thing, there were other things (worse things?) that were wrong with the world. Needed to know that there were still those who were brave and humble and kind, things that Riley embodied to a fault. Things that Ben had almost stopped believing in.

It was as if Riley had come at the exact right time, as if someone had known how hopeless and helpless the Gates couple had felt in the aftermath of the death of their unborn child (called a fetal death, as if that made the news any easier to stomach. As if a different name could take back the tears cried and hours spent wondering if the baby would have had Ben's hair…Abby's eyes…). And Ben had almost let Riley slip by.

The boy turned in the restless sleep he had fallen into, one hand coming up to knock into Ben's chest. It stayed there for a second before the hand turned, opened, and clutched the shirt, anchoring the teen to a reality he hoped to escape. Riley's back arched as he came back to the world and the bone-deep ache left by the fever, and the hand twisted in Ben's shirt.

"Shhh…." No words of comfort sprang to Ben's lips. While the treasure hunter was top in his field when it came to long-buried secrets, while he was asked to speak at numerous conferences around the country and world, he still couldn't find the right syllables to dispel the pain Riley was in.

He knew that if Riley got any hotter --- that is, if his fever rose --- they would be making a trip to the hospital. The last temperature Ben had checked had been 103.4 degrees, and still climbing. He hoped they'd be able to avoid that, if only to dodge the awkward questions placed on the standard-issue hospital admittance sheet (mother's name…date of birth…history of ___ medical disease…) none of which Ben had answers to.

The hand twisted again in Ben's shirt and the man absentmindedly patted it, rubbing the smooth skin in his own large hands, feeling the faint scars from wounds long forgotten. How many hurts was Riley hiding?

Blue eyes, too big to be true, met Ben's and conveyed the same message that was always on Riley's lips. _I'm sorry._

Out loud, Ben told the large house, the boy waiting for forgiveness, "I know. You'll be okay." A lie. Ben had no way to know if this was the run-of-the-mill cold or something much more sinister, like pneumonia, the whooping cough, tuberculosis, the avian flu… But the lie was enough to make the fevered eyes close, the breaths hitch once before deepening slightly, each exhale accompanied by an unnatural rasping sound.

Anchored by Ben's promise and the shirt that his half-limp hand hadn't been disentangled from, Riley slept fitfully with his guardian watching over him. Maybe, Ben thought, the reason Riley was so trusting now was because he hadn't trusted _anyone_ before, not teachers. Not his own father.

Something hard broke inside Ben and he found a tear trailing traitorously down his cheek as he mourned for a childhood lost, because he felt that somebody had to.

The tear mixed with the cold sweat that covered Riley's body, even though he was buried under a cotton comforter and an old, half-forgotten afghan. Still shaking, Riley shifted, moaning, mouth open in an _O_ of surprise, a circle of pain.

It was strange that Ben could love a baby he'd never gotten to know and hate a man he'd never met, for he was sure that it was his father Riley was dreaming of, his father that made Riley cringe. It was amazing how the man had such great control, half a state and three months away.

A single cough was all it took for Ben's hand to fly, automatically, to Riley's forehead. He immediately snatched it back; it had been burned by the heat radiating off of the boy's head.

Frantic, Ben lifted the feather-light fourteen-year-old off the couch, undeterred, though heartbroken, by the weak struggles to get free. "Shh…" only a single sound passed through his lips, followed rapidly by the old, empty promise. "It'll be okay." It was the same thing his father had told him every time he was sick, and Ben had always believed that if his dad said it, that maybe he would really be okay.

Cradling Riley against his chest, barely able to keep the ancient afghan over the shaking body, Ben snagged the phone from the counter and dialed the first number that came to mind. "Mom?" he asked, his voice coming out in a sigh of relief just as Riley gave a soft whimper of pain that tore at Ben's chest.

"Ben?" A question, since Ben called Dr. Emily Appleton so seldom that she could count the occurrences on her thumbs. "What's wrong? Are you alright?"

There was no time for pleasantries; since the whimper, Riley had become still….too still… "How do you bring down a fever? Quickly?" Ben noted the anxiety in his voice and was sure his mom picked up on it.

"There are many methods, dear, but I always found the most effective to be a tub….make sure it's not too cold, mind, just lukewarm. Ben, who --?" she found herself holding the phone stupidly as Ben hung up.

The time for patience was past. Ben found himself tearing up the stairs as quickly as he could without jostling Riley, who still seemed oblivious to his movements. The phone was clutched in his left hand, which was settled in the crook of the small teen's neck, just in case Riley's breathing became any shallower.

Ben opened the cold water tap on the tub to full blast, adding the hot water almost as a second thought. He placed Riley under the stream, alarmed when it seemed as if the boy had given up on breathing all together. He quickly stripped Riley of his shirt, trying to swallow his anger and sadness at the sight of the many stripes and bruises covering the frail body. As soon as the water, now a reasonable temperature, began to soak Riley's body, he opened his eyes and stared at Ben with an expression so miserable that Ben patted Riley's shoulder helplessly and began to silently cry in earnest.

As he sat on the side of the tub long enough for Riley's temperature to go down to a reasonable 102 degrees, Ben wondered when exactly the child had begun to steal his heart.

**Sorry for the long wait. Yeah, the boys are bonded now, and Ben's going to turn tiger if I ever let him get a swipe at Riley's Pop. **

**Hope people out there are still reading. As always, please review. **


	8. Hand that Breaks the Fall

"_I wanna know if your sweet love is gonna save me." __**The Eagles**_

Riley twitched and opened his eyes, sucking in his breath when he realized it was light outside. Damn, he was going to die. Pop would literally kill him dead if Riley woke later than the sun.

A hand touched his arm and Riley flinched back, eyes squeezed against the exhaustion, back tensed for more pain. "'M sorry, I'm sorry…" a hand cupped his chin and Riley froze, knowing better than to fight, unable to suppress one last hiccupping sob that tore at his already ruined throat.

"Son of a –" a swear cut through Riley's wall of fear, but the voice was not low and coarse, not menacingly soft. Lifting his lashes a fraction, Riley saw the white, angry face of Benjamin Gates. Oh.

Again the apology was on his lips, this time for the mistaken identity. Before he could get it out, Riley was wrapped in a hug so tight the breath was pushed out of him. He'd never been hugged like this before, as if by a mother, as if one action could lift away all the dirt Riley always felt weighing down his soul.

There was a whisper, a mere breath of air, that tickled Riley's ear. "I thought I lost you…" Ben murmured and Riley's heart – the thing he'd guarded so fiercely, the object he'd unwittingly given to this hard man, warmed at the words and he gave a cracked-lip smile.

Ben rocked the boy gently, running his hands through the damp hair, attempting to ignore the fact that each of the boy's ribs poked painfully against his knee, attempting to ignore the fact that his dream weekend had crumbled until it resembled what it had been in the first place --- a façade that covered the dark truth that he didn't know the kid at all.

Sure, Ben knew the specifics. Riley had been abused (in his mind, Ben used the word tortured) by his father for the past fourteen years. He had been brought up in the mountains without a mother. He was a wiz at math and science, a genius with computers. He had a heart made of pure gold and offered it willingly, simply, to a cranky old man who deserved much less. He loved and hoped and gave even after his wishes were crushed time and time again.

"I thought I lost you…" Ben started again, his voice dipping until it finally cracked over the second part of the sentence _before I got to know you_. Ben wanted to know everything about this boy: what his favorite foods were, what he wanted to be when he grew up. Ben wanted to teach this kid the name of every constellation in the night sky, wanted to verse him in history so that it, God willing, would never repeat itself.

Ben wanted to know who had hurt this child, so that he could wring his neck and throw him off a cliff. He would reenact the deeds of Theseus, the first to decide that an eye for an eye equaled justice.

Bleary eyes opened again. Riley was coming down from the terrifying summit of the fever, where only unintelligible moans and soft whimpers revealed the pain Riley went through. "Ben?" a frail hand lifted to hover an inch from Ben's face, trembling there a second before laying, cool and slick, on the man's cheek.

The old adage, drilled into Ben's head from years of Youth Group, sprung unbidden, uncalled for, to the forefront of his mind. _WWJD?_ Better yet…_WWAD_? What would Abby Do? Abigail was the touchy one, the one with the softness, the one unafraid to let it show.

But something had changed during the long, horrible night while Ben had kept vigil near Riley's side. It is said that a woman becomes a mother when they become pregnant, a man becomes a father when they hold their child.

Last night, Ben had cradled Riley's breakable body in his suddenly inadequate arms and realized he never wanted to give him up. Not to another foster family, certainly not back to his father. Ben wanted to see Riley grow into a man, wanted to be there to root him on and catch him when he fell. Was that what being a father was about?

A deep, shaking cough ripped through the thin curtain of dignity Riley had been able to draw around himself. Shaking his head in embarrassment, Riley rolled away from Ben and coughed again, once more, each movement rippling through his body in a bone-deep ache. "Sorry…" he murmured.

"For what?" The words weren't harsh and cruel as Pop's voice had been when the big man asked the question. Ben said them as if he was actually asking a question.

Unfortunately, one that Riley couldn't answer. _I'm sorry_ was a part of his vocabulary, had become more essential than _hello_ or _good afternoon_. Most of the time, Riley didn't even know what he was apologizing about --- usually the words were said out of long habit, out of the easy familiarity of the syllables.

Then, said quietly but with much conviction, "You haven't done anything wrong."

Riley could only stare at Ben. No one, in his memory, had ever told him he hadn't done anything wrong. More often than not, people went out of their way to list the innumerable things Riley had managed to screw up. Riley screwed up a lot.

An ear-splitting shriek made Riley jump in Ben's arms, hands flailing to cover his head. "Shh…." Ben muttered, one arm snaking past Riley's left shoulder. "It's just the telephone." But Riley's body didn't relax, not that Ben expected it to. One shoulder of the T-shirt had slipped, revealing a burn the size of cf a cigarette. Seething, Ben answered the phone with a clipped, "Hello?"

He was expected Abigail, who had promised to call. After Riley's fever broke, Ben had called his wife and told her about the night. It wasn't Abby's dewy voice, but Stephanie's, the social worker. Riley's social worker. "Ben?"

"Yeah." Ben was less articulate than usual. Holding a sick, terrified fourteen-year-old did that to you.

Stephanie's voice was breezy, sympathetic, upbeat, a voice cultured for her line of work. "I know that you weren't looking forward to this, but I really need to prepare Riley for the trial. It's in three weeks, remember?"

Ben hadn't remembered. The trial would decide if Riley's father was fit to regain guardianship, if Ben and Abby would be suitable foster parents, or if they needed to precede to a third option. It was a routine case, really, but Ben felt his heart rip at the sight of the terrified boy's eyes, wide as they heard the same words.

Clearing his throat, Ben said, quietly, "When do you need him?" Ben winced as the words came out clipped, cold, a betrayal.

The bright voice was really beginning to annoy him. "Will Tuesday work for you?" It was Sunday. Ben had worked out a tentative plan to take Riley to a friend who practiced Pediatric medicine. Riley still hadn't lost that glazed, exhausted look, still hadn't been able to eat anything. But perhaps by Tuesday…

"Tuesday's fine." Ben murmured, his eyes sliding over the phone and locking with Riley's so he could mouth _I'm sorry_.

Riley only shrugged. He had never been to a trial like this before, but he was used to meeting people who couldn't protect him. Pop would regain custody, and there was nothing Ben or Abby or Stephanie could do about that. It was okay, though. Riley knew all about being disappointed.

**So there's the conflict. Only took (gosh darn, was it really) seven chapters to get there. Hmm…**

**Anyways, please review. **


	9. Divine Intervention

"_May the Lord protect and defend you. May he always preserve you from pain." __**Sabbath Prayer**_

Riley was sitting at the dinner table, trying not to bend over double. He didn't want to eat, but his stomach was rumbling loudly enough to remind him he hadn't had any food in thirty-six hours. He wanted to sleep, but the sweats were enough to keep him wide awake.

Ben was making toast and egg drop soup, not exactly a morning meal but one he thought Riley's stomach would appreciate. Every now and then he snuck a glance at the boy, wincing at the pale, bruised body.

It was nine am on a Sunday morning, one of the last nice Sundays of the fall, Ben would bet. The fact that Riley was upright, even for a short time, meant he was on the mend. Ben was already planning a movie marathon, planning on introducing Riley to the greats he'd missed out on during his childhood…the kid would flip over _Star Wars_…

Ben looked up when the doorbell rang, but Riley fell out of his chair. His _ouch_ of pain was bitten off half-way through and he righted the chair without another word, though he was trembling. Shaking his head, Ben ruffled the boy's hair and promised to be back in a minute, wondering who would be calling this early…Abby wasn't due back, and post wasn't delivered Sundays.

Opening the door, Ben had to choke back a exclamation of surprise when he saw his parents, _both_ of them, at the door, looking worried. "Benjamin…" His mother began, her voice a small sigh, and the word had the underlying connotations of the sentence she'd delicately left out, _why didn't you tell us?_

What could he do? Ben stepped aside, hurriedly asking them to please be quiet, that Riley was still sick and, besides that, he was jumpy and frightened.

Upon entering the kitchen, Ben was unsurprised to see Riley at the counter, stirring the soup and buttering the toast that had just popped. He was barefoot.

"Riley, sit down before you fall over." He said, forgetting his own plea and nearly shouting the words. Riley jumped, nearly tipping the soup on himself. He blinked at Ben, surprise and trust in his features, before curiously glancing at the two other people. "These are my parents."

"Hello." Riley murmured, his voice low and scratchy from the illness. "It's nice to meet you." He quietly slipped into a seat, feet dangling.

Ben's father glanced at his son, then at the tiny boy at the table. Patrick knew that the boy had to be around fourteen, but he looked younger, maybe twelve, eleven. He was tiny and pale, and his large eyes were hidden behind thick, cracked glasses. His shirt was too baggy, his hair too long…"Hello, son."Patrick said, trying to be jovial, though he and the other adults in the room noticed the wince at the word son. "You feeling up to an outing today?"

"Dad, that's not a good idea. We were just going to take it easy today." Ben's protest was expected, though unnecessary.

Emily sidled up beside her son, noticing, not for the first time, that he had grown to tower over her. "Your father wants to take Riley to church with him. Give you and me time to talk."

Ben nodded, understanding though not sure whether he'd allow this change of plans. "Did you guys draw straws or what?" He knew that both his parents were curious about this boy he and Abby had found so quickly. But his father was the more pious of the pair, and maybe taking Riley to church wouldn't be a bad idea. Ben had never thought of it, but he doubted the boy had ever set foot in one before.

"It's up to Riley. You feel up to going out, kid?" Riley's head cocked to one side and he bit his lip. Ben knew that the boy was reading him, judging how much he would let Ben down if he said no. A second passed, then a nod.

Patrick was at the stove, putting on a kettle of hot water for tea. "Why don't you get dressed in something warm, Riley. It's nice out but you'll probably freeze." His voice was low, gentler than Ben had heard it in a while. Riley nodded and shuffled out of the room in search of clothes.

"Now Ben." Patrick said as soon as they heard the door close upstairs. "What is this kid? And I know he's foster, but we need a few details."

"I can't believe you didn't tell us of his arrival. We would have been here to greet him, you know." And Ben did know that. "Plus we're both insanely curious." Ben knew that, too.

"Abby and I just thought it'd be easier for him to adjust if he didn't have a hundred relatives flocking around him." Ben explained half-heartedly, knowing that he _should_ have at least told his parents of Riley.

"Well, what of it? Are you going to send him back in a few months or a year or whatever, when the adoption goes through?" Patrick's question cut right to the heart of the matter, and Ben answered as honestly as he could.

"I don't know." Because the future Ben had had for himself and Abby and their nameless child had shifted in the last week. Was their room for a fourth person, a frightened, eager, talented teen? "I really don't know."

Riley came in the room, then, dressed in an orange sweatshirt and jeans that, although they were child's sizes, did nothing but make him look smaller. Ben would have to remedy that --- just looking at the kid made him feel hungry. "Soup, Ri?"

The boy took the offered soup and sat down at the table, looking expectantly at the adults. "Ever been to a church, Riley?" Patrick asked and Riley, as they knew he would, shook his head. "Would you like to see one? It's a great old church, one of the oldest in the nation. Beautiful." And maybe that would be enough to entice Riley to religion, for Ben had found that the boy, like himself, perked up at the sound of history.

"I wouldn't mind, sir, but I don't know…I might be out of place." Ben winced at the boy's voice, barely a croak. But he had won both of Ben's parents over in a few words, and within an hour had been bustled out the door on the way to the heart of Philly, leaving Ben alone with his mother.

Riley sat in the car, not knowing what to do with himself. He felt uncomfortable with the idea of church, though he didn't know why. He knew that plenty of people found solace in the institution, but it was the matter of God that disturbed the young boy.

"You cold?" Patrick's voice was carefully pitched so he wouldn't frighten Riley. "I know I kind of threw you into this. You must be exhausted." And he was, but he'd never admit it. He wasn't cold, though, and forced his body to stop shaking out of sheer will.

"So, Riley…what do you like? If you were in better shape we could have gone somewhere fun after church…a museum, or something. But I bet being on a couch sounds appealing now."

Not wanting to admit to that, Riley said, "I like computers." He knew it was impolite to be so vague, but his throat hurt too much to allow him to say more.

Patrick realized this and didn't press any further, though he did start talking about Philadelphia. His voice, like Ben's rose in pitch when he described history and Riley found himself almost lulled to sleep by the convoluted tales of politics and battles.

"Riley, we're here." Out of instinct, Patrick didn't shake the boy to wake him up and merely said his name. It was enough, though, and sleep-filled eyes opened, revealing a soft, innocent blue. "C'mon, kiddo."

Riley wondered if everyone would insist on calling him kid, or if it was just the Gates family. Getting out of the car, Riley was grateful for Patrick's offered hand as his knees buckled. "Woah, now, just take it slow. We're a bit early."

They walked into the church, and Riley found himself craning his neck to look up at the gargoyles, the statues, the stained-glass windows. "You know anything about Christianity, Riley?"

He did. Pop had a Bible, and he often shoved it at Riley when he was being punished, telling him to learn of the damnation Hell offered him in the next life. "Some, sir. I've read the Bible."

"Then you know a heck of a lot more than most. Want to look around, or do you want to sit?" The artwork was too inciting to allow Riley to stay still, and he found himself being drawn to an alter celebrating St. Peter.

"Oh, he was always one of Ben's favorites, too. The rock, you know…" and Patrick went on, outlining Peter and other saints, pointing out different portrayals of the people long dead.

They walked around the church as if began to fill. At one point they stood in front of the alter and looked up into the face of Christ. Riley had to turn away, knowing that he was too dirty and evil to look at someone so pure and good. Pop had always said that he would be damned to Hell for killing his mother. Pop had always said that there was no forgiveness for that kind of sin.

**Just another reason to hate Riley's dad, but now there's four people (five if you include Darrel, who's coming back soon) who care about the little guy. **

**Anyways, please review. **


	10. Fear Leads To

"_In this book, not only is there no happy ending, there is no happy beginning, and very few happy things in the middle." __**A Series of Unfortunate Events**_

"Mr. Gates?"

Ben glanced up from his papers, not knowing exactly who he was expecting on the sunny November afternoon. Abigail was working and Ben was preparing for a new series of lectures on a secret subgroup of the Masons…no one else was in the house.

Which was why he was surprised to find a dark, thin, small wisp of a boy in front of him. Before Ben could get out a word of exclamation, the child said, "I'm Darrel, a friend of Riley's. I just walked him here and I…well, I've been meaning to talk to you..." Ben's immobile face spurred the boy to talk faster.

"I don't' know very much about Riley or his past, but he really likes you and Mrs. Gates, he talks about you all the time, which is why I'm telling you this, because there's not much I can do. Yesterday he met with his social worker, right? About that case against his dad?"

This was true. It was the second in a series of three meetings Stephanie had requested with the boy. Ben had dropped Riley off at the office and picked him up. Ben had been meaning to talk to Riley about the case, but had been distracted by the research. He'd even been late picking Riley up, though the boy, in what Ben was coming to see as typical fashion, hadn't said a word of protest.

"Well, I think you should ask him about the meeting, or something. He won't lie to you, but he might not tell you if you, you know, don't ask." It was obvious that Darrel was getting uncomfortable. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other and licked his lips several times.

Ben studied the boy carefully, then glanced up the stairs that he knew Riley would be coming down any minute. "Why can't you tell me?" he asked, already knowing and dreading the answer.

"He'd only been here three weeks, mister, and Riley's real shy, but I don't want to lose him as a friend, and what he said…it seemed kind of privet." Darrel was backing out of the room. "I need to pick up my brothers, but will you talk to Riley? Please? He needs help." And the black boy fled, leaving Ben feeling cold all over from a minute-long conversation.

Riley came down the steps, a smile on his face and a disk in his hand. "How is the research coming?" He asked quietly. Everything about Riley was quiet, but Ben was beginning to see that the boy had fortitude and strength far beyond his size.

"It's coming." Ben had also learned that Riley was a great researcher and eager to learn about the treasures that history had to offer. The man studied Riley as he settled into a chair, not missing the split-second wince as he leaned his back against the cushion. It had been a month, and still the scars persisted to show their signs in unexpected ways.

Like how Riley would look mortified if he did something loud, like laugh or clap. Or how he had cringed when he dropped a glass the other day. Or the way he sometimes jumped if Ben spoke to loud or touched him. How he got twitchy and irritable if he was in a room with a man he didn't know well.

There were many shortcomings to getting a child through the foster system, not the least of which being their nervous habits like the ones Riley had.

"I never asked how the meeting went yesterday…" Ben began watching Riley carefully. Everyone, Ben included, thought the case was a "sure thing". There was evidence of abuse, and Riley was ready to testify, if not willing. And there were other records…a hospitalization, visits to the nurse's office at school, a _rape kit_ used once DYFS finally caught on…

Riley looked at him and used one finger to push heavy glasses further up his nose. "It was fine. Stephanie had to leave a little early to meet her boyfriend, so I got to walk through the park." Though it wasn't meant that way, Ben took this as a subtle reminder that he'd been late in picking Riley up.

"Did anything happen in the park?" And Ben knew he was on to something by the way Riley's ears turned red, a sure sign of a hidden truth. When the boy didn't answer and just tapped harder on the already-worn keys of Ben's ancient computer, the man prodded, "Riley?"

"Nothing happened." Riley looked at him pleadingly and moved an imperceptible inch further from the table. "Really, everything's fine." But his eyes were screaming his lie, and Ben couldn't ignore that.

"Did you see anyone in the park?" he asked, beginning to feel real anger rear its head once again. What was it about the slight boy that made him so emotional…so protective? "Your father?"

Ben couldn't begin to list the reasons why he hated the man. He'd told Riley he was worthless and dumb, too gross lies that nonetheless wrought havoc on the boy's psyche. The elusive "Pop" had physically and _sexually_ abused his son in such a way as to make Riley think he was deserving of this type of abuse. Not for the first time, Riley's words of a few weeks ago came to him.

"_Are you going to beat me?"_

Riley didn't have to answer the question. The way his body seemed to fold in on itself was answer enough. Suddenly the anger built to a rage and Ben found himself wanting to hit something. "Did he speak to you?" Ben wondered at his ability to speak without yelling, shrieking, cursing the monster.

Large blue eyes flickered upwards and locked on Ben's for an instant. "Yeah…" Riley said, so quietly Ben could barely hear him. "Yeah, he did."

And Ben was on his feet, hands and arms and heart reaching for Riley, pulling him close both to comfort the tears that were pooling in the child's eyes and to examine the boy who had somehow become so dear to him.

Pulling up the worn fabric of Riley's favorite shirt, one of the few items he'd had before he'd moved in with the Gates, Ben forced himself to remain silent…not to let out the gasp of surprise or the moan of despair.

There had been some instinct in Ben that knew that if Riley's 'father' found him, the man would hurt Riley. And he wasn't wrong…bruises and small cuts littered Riley's newly-healing back. One abrasion near the base of his neck was in the shape of a hand.

Ben backed away, disgusted, and sat down heavily at the table, suddenly feeling very old and very, very tired. "Did he say anything to you?" Ben asked, though judging by the man's Neanderthal-like tendencies, it wasn't hard to discern the motives behind the attack.

Riley was staring at Ben with something like relief, "To not testify." He mumbled before looking away, then back again at Ben. "Sir…Ben?"

"Yeah, kid?" Ben sighed, one hand raking through his hair.

Riley's eyes were fixed on a point just above Ben's head, and his expression was sad, wistful. "Why does he hate me?"

The treasure hunter extraordinaire, one of the most learned historians in early American history had no answer for the soft question spoken so easily by the extraordinary boy.

**Ben's going to get revenge. Soon. And, due to our lack of the system, and because it makes a better story, Pop isn't in custody of any sort. **

**Questions? Comments? Gripes? Concerns?**


	11. Breaking Again

"_Carry on my wayward son. They'll be peace when you are done. Lay your weary head to rest. Don't you cry no more." __**Kansas**_

Ben felt guilty about his job, so he took Riley out to ice cream first.

The boy sat quietly, looking about him in a curious, alert manner, probably not aware he squirmed slightly every time Ben made a move to touch him. Finally, to break the silence, Ben asked, "So, are you a chocolate person or a vanilla person?"

Riley blinked at him through his thick glasses. For the ump-teenth time, Ben reminded himself to get Riley new glasses. "Sorry?"

"Chocolate or vanilla? Ice cream." Ben clarified, looking over at Riley.

In truth, Riley knew what ice cream was. He had, after all, been living in the United States his entire life, and had gone to school. But he'd never had any. Oh, there were times in school when he probably could have taken a bite --- at an end-of-the-year party, perhaps, or a kid's birthday. But once, when he'd taken food without permission (this was after a two-day forced fast, and he was nine) Pop had belted one of his teeth loose. He never took food again.

Which is why he could only stare blankly at Ben. "Ummm…chocolate?" He liked the color of chocolate, a warm brown that reminded him of the fawns he'd see run through their front yard in the Spring. He always wished he could run with them to wherever they were going.

Maybe Ben was supposed to be an undercover cop, or 007's partner, but he seemed to know when Riley was lying. So did Abigail. So did Darrel. And they all did the same thing. They sighed, and Riley squirmed, and they'd ask him to tell the whole story.

"You ever have ice cream, Riley?"

"No."

There was a lump in Ben's throat but he managed to swallow past it. "Oh. Well…" He swallowed again, licking his lips, his hands shaking. It was small exchanges like these that made Ben want to punch something, or at the very least hug Riley. But Riley didn't like being touched. "Well, you get to try some today."

The ice cream parlor was nearly empty, as it was a rather rainy afternoon in the late fall. The teen behind the counter looked at Riley and smiled beautifully. Riley didn't notice. "There's so many colors!" he whispered, looking through the glass case.

"They're different flavors. This is my favorite." He pointed to Rocky Road, speckled as it was. "And that's Abigail's." Chocolate and Peanut Butter. "My dad always liked strawberry." And he'd always thought him off for that. If you were going to eat strawberry you might as well have yogurt, or sorbet. "And my mother…well, she never had the same flavor twice."

Riley seemed to take the decision seriously, peering at each bucket in turn. "I like that one." He murmured, pointing to a Vanilla Bean. The off-white color very nearly matched his skin. Riley cleared his throat. "Uhm…can I have a…a small Vanilla Bean ice cream?"

"Cup or cone?"

Riley didn't know how a cone could assist someone in eating ice cream. "Cup." He was nervous now, the same feeling he got whenever Pop was about to find out he'd been doing something bad. What if he said the wrong thing.

"Anything on it?"

What would you put on an ice cream? Wasn't that enough? But Ben answered for him, one of his hands coming down unexpectedly on Riley's shoulder. Riley scooted away and stood behind the tall man. "Hot fudge and whipped cream. No cherry." When the girl turned away, Ben confided, "I always hated cherries."

They took their ice creams to a table in the corner. Riley waited patiently until Ben had taken a bite of his own to begin eating. The rich flavor was like nothing he'd ever tasted…smooth and silky, the warm fudge contrasting the frozen cream. "This is great!" Riley said happily, getting another, larger spoonful. "Thank you, Ben."

"You're welcome." Ben lay his own spoon to the side. "Riley." He began, wondering if it was possible to do this task without frightening the teenager. "Riley, we need to go to the hospital later today."

Wide eyes and a dropped spoon told him it wasn't going to be easy. Riley sucked in a long, deep breath, something very close to tears glistening behind his glasses. "Why?"

"To get you checked over by the doctors. Stephanie told me they never ran a full scan; they just treated the wounds they could see at the home." Ben was afraid of what the tests might show, but he knew that if they figured out exactly what had happened to Riley, they'd have a better chance of helping him, or keeping him.

Riley looked down at his lap, long fingers splayed in a twisted pattern. "I'll be better, Mr. Gates, I swear. I…please, don't send me away. This is the…the best place I've ever been."

"I'm not sending you anywhere, Riley." Ben was thoroughly confused. "We're just going to the hospital. I'll be with you the whole time."

"But…" Riley said slowly, "Bu people only go to the hospital if they've been…awful, or if they are going to be…disposed of, because they're getting in the way." This is what he'd always been told, since he was little. It was why Pop would never, ever take him there, even if he did threaten it on more than one occasion.

Ben bit back his automatic response of _who told you that?_ since he already knew the answer. "So you've never been to a hospital?" Some of Riley's injuries looked as if they should have required medical attention.

"No…"

"What if you were hurt?"

Riley merely looked at him, head slightly tilted to the side. "What what? If I was hurt I'd…nothing. I never really got hurt, anyway."

It was such a blatant lie that it was all Ben could do not to call the boy on it. Sighing, he said, "Eat up," pointing to the slightly soft ice cream. It was going to be a long day.

Sitting in the car, Riley felt every one of his fourteen years, and he was mad about it. "I don't need to go to the hospital." This was roughly the equivalent of someone coming up to you and saying that they needed to make a quick pit stop at the lion's cage and see if he was in.

"Stephanie says she wants to catalogue all of your injuries, including the ones you won't tell anyone about." Ben looked pointedly at him, then tousled his hair so quickly Riley didn't have the time to pull away. "You'll be okay, kid. You can do this."

Riley stared out the window, a feeling of dread beginning to settle into the pit of his stomach. "You sure there aren't any lion dens on the way?"

"What'd you say?"

"I said, 'Oh, boy, hospital.'"

As Ben expected, the hospital wasn't the least bit intimidating, though the wait was daunting. Luckily, Ben knew some people and was able to get one of his own friends, a buddy named Nathanial who'd been Ben's roommate in college, to check Riley over.

"He's a little scared." Ben muttered to Nathanial, who looked at Riley, obviously wondering why a fourteen-year-old was still afraid of doctors.

Riley looked defiant and crossed his arms, "I'm not scared. You're trying to kill me and keep telling me it'll be okay. How would you feel?" He was nervous, and angry that Ben had betrayed him. The manners, the scared-little-kid attitude, was out the window. With Pop, only two things worked to escape beatings, being meek and mild or aloof, sarcastic…usually the second one was only for when Pop was drunk, but he figured it might work on Ben now.

Nathanial bent towards Riley, making the boy's scowl deepen. Now he was being treated like a kid. "Listen, Riley, I won't lie to you, some of these procedures are pretty invasive and scary. But I'll explain everything to you, and Ben will stay with you the whole time."

Riley tried to hold his glare, but he wasn't made for those expressions. He faltered, glanced anxiously between the men, knowing he was going to be uncomfortable all afternoon. "Promise?"

"Promise. Okay, we'll just take some X-Rays first. Hop up on the table, kid." Ben winked at Riley, his body covered in a grey smock. Riley didn't get one. Maybe he'd die of radiation poisoning. Maybe that'd be easier.

"Don't breathe." Nathanial called. Ben smirked at Riley, "Stop breathing kid. Stop. Don't breathe. Not one breath. Stop!" Riley let out a small chuckle as the light passed over his body. He tried not to squirm…it didn't hurt, but it seemed like it should.

"Great job, kid." Ben mouthed, as Nathanial instructed Riley to turn first one way, then the other, until he ended up on his back.

"Photo shoot's over, Riley. Want to see your pictures?" A few keys were tapped on a computer and Riley's skeletal structure was suddenly on display.

All three males stared at the pictures until Nathanial turned to Ben. "You want me to…circle the breaks, or something?" Ben nodded mutely, jaw clenched. Riley merely hung his head, ashamed that all his past discretions were suddenly visible for the world to see.

In all, thirty-four breaks and fractures were pointed out and circled in red. Riley glared at the stupid shapes, wishing they'd go away. He didn't need reminders of his aches…most of them had stopped hurting a long time ago, or maybe Riley'd just learned to block out the pain.

"There's one that's still healing…it's maybe six weeks old. Riley, give me your left wrist." Oh yeah, the one Pop's slammed in the door when Riley had tried to pull it open to escape one of his rages. "We can put a cast on it, but we'd have to re-break it. It's not healing quite right."

Riley jerked his wrist away, doubling over on it protectively. Some people say that their greatest fear was spiders, or the dark. Riley's was pain. He knew when pain was coming…could sense it. Why would he go through that voluntarily. "No way." He snarled as meanly as he could when his voice was breaking. "No way. They've all been fine before. Leave it alone." God, and Ben had said this was a safe place. They were just looking to break him, too.

Nathanial held up his hands in surrender, his grey eyes compassionate and knowing. "Okay, kid, we don't' have to do that, but it would stop hurting."

Except that nothing could make Riley stop hurting, so that was another lie.

More tests, more than Riley could count, to determine if he'd ever had given drugs, his stress levels, whether we was likely to have a seizure. And MRI, CAT scan, and two more X-Rays were taken before Nathanial turned to Riley. "One test left. You ready?"

And, instinctively, Riley knew what it was. He opened his mouth to say 'no' but could only nod yes, lowering his eyes. Ben's hand was on Riley's shoulder and, for once, he didn't mind it being there.

The questions were uncomfortable, so personal they made Riley squirm. He squeezed his eyes tight and answered truthfully, a battle raging in his head. _Though shall not lie _against _Honor thy mother and thy father. _

Every fiber of Riley's being rebelled against the probing instruments inserted all over the one area of his body Riley was most secretive about. _Let this be over soon_. Riley prayed, looking away from Ben, who's sympathetic eyes made Riley want to cry.

"Almost done, Riley, you're doing great." Nathanial's voice was somewhere below Riley, disembodied except for a horribly familiar, slimy feeling that settled deep into his stomach. This was the final thing…why he hadn't wanted to go to the hospital. Ben would _know_, and he wouldn't want Riley anymore. And Riley wanted to be with Ben, more than anything else in the world.

But what could he do? He was fourteen and he was screwed up and dirty. He had been incredibly lucky (okay, aided luck. His computer skills helped) that the Gates had picked him out of those crowded, cramped homes.

"Good job, Riley." Ben probably should have known better than to touch Riley just after the boy had buttoned back his clothes. Riley cringed away, his tiny body trembling, so different from the serious, sarcastic teen of a few hours before.

"Please, sir…no…" And that proved, as much as the test and nightmares and bruises, that Riley had problems. That he needed help.

This time, instead of backing away and giving Riley space, Ben bent down towards the boy and enveloped him in long, gentle arms. "I've got you, kid. He'll never get to you again. I promise."

**You shouldn't promise something you can't keep, Ben. You know better than that. **

**Finals! Summer! Warmth! Review?**


	12. Trials and Tribulations

"_It's like, 'how much more black can this be?' And the answer is none. None more black." __**Anon**_

Riley wore a new suit and tie, an old belt of Ben's, and his own old, worn sneakers to the hearing. His hair was uncombed, though not from lack of trying. Abigail had spent fifteen minutes attempting to wrestle the matted mass into some sort of shape.

It was his eyes that made Ben want to drag the boy out of the court room and perhaps take him across town, to a museum, a movie, anyplace but this room. Long before this cold December day, Riley had lost that fearful, wide-eyed look he'd worn when he first entered the Gate's house. Around Ben and Abigail, he smiled, laughed, and the couple found that the fourteen-year-old had a biting wit and an aptitude for sarcasm.

"Best of both worlds," Abigail had once muttered, a little sadly, watching Riley dump loose papers and files into a hard drive. "He's funny and nice and sympathetic…and too damn scared of everyone to be anything but obedient."

This was, Ben quickly realized, a sort of catch-22. Every parent of a teenager wished for someone who didn't fight back, who quickly acquiesced to their requests, who listened without eye-rolling or interruption. Ben and Abigail had found that teenager, and discovered that they both wished that Riley would stomp out of a room in anger, or leave a pile of dirty dishes behind before school.

Sitting in the court room that day, Ben realized with a flash of insight that later that same week, that same day, Riley could go back to a father who didn't deserve him, who had been nothing but abusive, perverse, towards him. The thought seized him so he couldn't speak, couldn't move.

When Riley climbed the stand, looking tiny and lost in the massive box, he glanced at Ben, perhaps for reassurance, and Ben couldn't even nod or smile in return. _I'm going to lose him…We're going to lose him…_

Admittedly, Riley's 'Pop' put on a good front. He'd been out on bail since being arrested on child abuse charges and since then had managed to be promoted at his job and become legally sober. But Ben saw the way Riley shivered every time the man looked at him, and he was sure that the judge must see it…that hungry, feral glint in Pop's eyes, like Riley was nothing more or less than a piece of tender meat.

The judge began with easy enough questions. Ben liked this man, a justice of the peace for thirty years, gray-haired and lean with spectacles glinting over his eyes and kind, soft voice. And his name was Thomas J. Pierce, and Ben was willing to bet money he knew what the 'J' stood for.

"What's your name, son?" Riley tilted his head, something he did when he was trying to hide that he was hurt, or scared. Poor kid was probably both. It hadn't taken long for Ben to figure out that calling Riley 'son' only made the boy shake and turn white.

"Riley Poole, sir." Polite as always. Who couldn't love this kid?

Unfortunately, that question had been answered.

They went through age, birthday, current address, before the judge finally said, "You're living with the Gates'?"

"Yes, sir." Riley smiled, a genuine, happy smile, and looked at Abigail before sliding his eyes over to Ben and locking there. This time, Ben managed to smile. "They've been so kind."

"Hmmm…a history kid, aren't you?" This teased another small smile from Riley. "So they've been treating you right?"

"Yes, sir."

"You got a place to sleep? Enough food?"

"My own room, sir, and more than I could ever eat."

"Do you get along with this couple? Are you having trouble adjusting to school?"

Riley took a deep breath, "I…I love Ben and Abigail." At first, Ben thought he hadn't heard right. Neither he, nor, to his knowledge, Abigail, had told Riley they loved him. It was disappointing, heartbreaking, to realize that the kid might never have been told that in his short life. "They're real good people, for taking me in…putting up with my mouth and my…odd habits." Like when Ben sometimes found Riley sleeping on the floor, and he knew that, even if Riley insisted it was more comfortable, it was really because that's where he'd slept for fourteen years.

"I've never been happy to leave school at the end of the day before, but now I think that that's because I never really had a home." Riley blushed all the way to his ears but stayed staring straight at Ben, and the man could even figure out why. This was Riley's way of saying goodbye, and thank you, because he was smart enough to figure out that even a sympathetic judge would rather him stay with a blood relative than total strangers.

Before this, Ben had always said he had utmost faith in the American legal system. His entire career was basically based on worshiping the Constitution. Now, though, seeing the situation first hand made him want to just leave the courtroom with Abby and Riley and never look back, screw legalities.

"But school is good. Great, actually. I made a friend," here Riley smirked and pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. "I'm helping him design a video game."

The judge stared at Riley, maybe seeing, Ben thought, an astounding young man who had managed to survive a lifetime of hurt. That's what Ben saw every time he looked at Riley, anyway. "Let's talk about before, when you lived with your father."

And here, Riley just…stopped. His face turned white, his hands stopped fluttering at his sides, and he took one big gasp of air before he stopped breathing. "Did you like living with your father?"

Ask a native tribe of Africa if they liked eating bugs, and they'd probably shrug or nod. It's all they'd ever eaten. But present them with a big juicy hamburger and an ice cream sundae and then make them go back to bugs…well, maybe it's better to not know what you don't have.

Because before he lived with the Gates, Riley was….okay, he was pretty miserable. But at least he thought everyone in the world was like that. Pop used to read him obituaries out of the paper: **Boy, 12, drowned at local pond.**

"His parents did that." Pop would say, biting into his breakfast while Riley waited hungrily for the scraps. "Good for them, making it look like an accident."

It was why Riley was afraid of hospitals, because, as Pop said, once you went there, you'd never come back. They either killed you or brainwashed you to kill yourself. "Ever hear of a DNR, son?" Pop would say, and Riley would cringe as his large hand landed on a bruise.

Now, the Gates had shown him that everything Pop said was a lie, from the kid's death to the hospital to his night-time whisperings of, "I'm only doing this because I love you."

Riley stared up at the judge, looked over at Ben, who was staring hard at him, and moved his eyes to Abigail, silently cheering him on.

He could lie. He could say that Pop was an okay guy, that he really didn't hurt him. He could lie, and he would probably be placed back with his father. Maybe that was for the best. Better that hopping around foster homes for the next four years. With Pop, he'd be stationary, at least. And he'd probably live through the next four years.

Abigail had told him today that there was a woman who was looking to put her baby up for adoption, and she'd chosen Ben and Abigail. They'd been on the list at this big agency for almost two years and they were finally getting a baby. Riley had smiled at the news, even though inside, he had turned to jelly.

He thought Ben had _liked_ him. At least, Ben would sometimes sit with him when Riley couldn't fall asleep at night. He had spent the weekend with Riley when he'd gotten sick. He took him out to ice cream, to a museum, to a baseball game. But here they were looking for a kid who was better than Riley, and he really couldn't blame them.

Lie and live with Pop, or tell the truth and live with nobody? Because surely the Gates would give him back as soon as they got their own kid. Riley would just be an extra, a tag-along.

Riley looked up at the judge and swallowed hard. He could feel Pop's eyes on him, _looking_ at him. Sometimes, Riley would wake up and Pop would be staring at him, not like Ben did, smiling, telling him it was time for breakfast. Pop would stare hard and mean.

"I…" He couldn't decide. He _hated _Pop, but something was better than nothing, right? He didn't blame the Gates for not want him. He didn't want to be around himself. He was dirty, old, used. "I…can't do this."

And, just to prove that he was that boy everyone thought he was, immature, young, scared, he stood up and fled the courtroom, leaving all his chances behind.

**There's…nothing we can say to make that any more important. **

**Please, please review. **


	13. Would've Should've Could've

"_When you find yourself lost in the darkness of despair, remember, it is only in the black of the night that you see the stars, and those stars lead you back home." **One Tree Hill**_

The judge watched Riley run from the room, saw people in the courthouse begin to get up after him. Thomas Jefferson Pierce rubbed one large hand through his thinning hair and sighed before barking out, "everyone sit down."

They sat. The Gates'. The social worker. Pierce leaned back in his chair, staring at the place the boy had disappeared from.

He was a thin boy, a quiet boy, a brilliant boy. Too often, Pierce came across foster kids that were either suicidal or angry at the world. Boys turned hoodlum in the system, and girls turned to drugs, alcohol, sex. Too often, people went astray.

And the judge was left thinking, as these children walked out of his room, whether or not he did the right thing. Sometimes he gave their parents guardianship, for he truly believed at a person who shared your blood was meant to raise you, even if they sometimes erred.

But what of this case? The father had put on a good show, acting remorseful, getting his act together, sobering up, finding a job. It was all right, all legal, and the boy could --- perhaps should --- go back to him.

Except for that stare. Pierce had seen it, had seen the glint in the man's eye as he looked at Riley. And there were the bruises, the broken bones, the evidence held in the rape kit. No. The man had put on a good show, but that was all it was…a show.

You couldn't get very far as a judge without being a good judge (get it?) of character. And this man was less than a man. He was a monster, and there was no way the Judge was giving him guardianship of anyone. If Pierce had his way --- and Pierce, as the most senior justice in the district, usually had his way --- the man would be in jail by nightfall.

Clearing his throat, Pierce opened his mouth to give his ruling.

* * *

Ben watched Riley run from the room and began to stand up to go after him.

Sometimes, that kid drove him crazy. What was he thinking, running out in the middle of a trial? But Ben couldn't condemn the kid…it made him crazy to sit in the same room as the man who had hurt Riley and not be able to beat the living daylights out of him. Not that Ben wouldn't, if it was the two of them on a desert isle with no consequences, but there was Riley to think about, and what kind of judge would rule in favor a man who'd just proven he was violent?

So Ben sat down, still tense, ready to spring up as soon as the judge gave the all-clear sign. He was still worried about the outcome of today, and didn't know what would happen if Riley was not allowed to stay with him and Abigail.

He'd always had faith in the justice system, before he was thrown head first into it. Now he wished there weren't quite so many laws, especially ones that made it okay for a boy to stay with someone who, not only didn't love them, but didn't even like them, and didn't care for them properly.

When Riley had first come to Ben, the older man had taken him to a pediatrician to give him a physical. He had weighed eighty-nine pounds with his clothes on. "How old are you kid?" The doctor had asked,  
"Twelve?"

"Fourteen, sir." Back then, Riley still quaked in his boots anytime he had to interact with a grown man. Later, in the car, after the doctor had prescribed good food in large amounts and plenty of rest, Ben asked Riley about his home for the first time.

Riley shrugged, "Not all that different, I guess."

"How many times a day did you eat?" That was the important question. Ben couldn't imagine how a boy could get so skinny. Riley was all skin and bones. Bruises and bones.

Again, Riley shrugged, "Once, I guess." Which probably explained why Riley had seemed nauseous after dinner the past week, and why his face lit up when Abigail had set a grilled cheese sandwich in front of him for lunch.

Ben's hands tightened on the steering wheel, but back then he'd said nothing. He was still trying to convince himself that he didn't' like this kid. That he didn't need him, even though every fiber of his being was rebelling against the thought of Riley being hurt, starved, beaten. But Riley wasn't his problem. Not then.

In a month, things had changed, and Riley wasn't only Ben's "problem", but his salvation, his hope, his son. Riley showed Ben that being cynical was not a way to look at a world, even a society as corrupt and immoral as their own. The boy had gone through fourteen years of Hell and still tried to make a relationships, build trust.

There were things Ben knew about Riley that he was sure few, if any, other people knew. That he cringed whenever someone used the word 'son' was common knowledge, but Ben knew that this is what Pop had called him every night as the grown man took over Riley's bed. Riley was a whizz kid with computers, but he was also savvy with History and couldn't cook worth a damn. He was funny and talkative when Darrel stayed over for dinner, but when one of Ben's male colleagues stopped by he wouldn't open his mouth. He didn't eat much, as a rule, but this was because for the first fourteen years of his life his 'father' had told him he was too worthless to eat more than a few bites a day.

Riley fit in, in a strange, quirky way, with the Ben and Abby's life. He left a trail of strange Post-It notes around the house, happy to have discovered the tiny thing's tendency to stick to things. Just the other day Ben had opened the cabinet to find Riley's unintelligible scrawl on a neon-orange Note. **Need more Jelly Beans**. It read

They'd never had any Jelly Beans, but the note made Ben smile for the rest of the day.

That Riley would think that Ben would ever want to get rid of him, or that the man had gotten tired of him, was beyond imagining to someone like Ben, grown, adjusted, happy with his position in life. But was it that far of a stretch to a vulnerable teen like Riley to jump from getting a new baby to kicking out the older kid?

* * *

Abigail felt like this was all her fault. She stood up as Riley left the court room, ready to go after him, wanting to explain everything.

She had been stupid, she knew, for telling Riley about the baby without Ben there. Ben seemed to understand Riley, even better than Abigail could. They had bonded, both alike in their need for silence, they're willingness to put everything aside to get answers. But she had been so excited, and she wanted Riley to be excited, too.

How do you explain to a fourteen-year-old boy the yearnings to have a baby? This maternal urge had been inside Abigail for years, before she'd conceived and miscarried, before Ben. She'd wanted children since she was six years old, the youngest in a family of boys who never talked of marriage or children unless it was to make a sex joke.

It was…the worst feeling in the world…knowing that you killed your own child. Oh, Abigail had heard the speeches, that there was something wrong with the baby, something that couldn't be fixed. But it meant that _she_ was wrong in the first place. That maybe she shouldn't have kids. It made Abigail question herself as she never had before.

And she thought, maybe callously, selfishly, that Riley would understand this terrible feeling. That maybe they could bond, that Riley might open up about his past. After all, Riley had been told since he was a child that he'd killed his mother, and here Abigail was thinking that she'd killed her baby. Those situations weren't all that different.

But Abigail should have explained things better. She should have sat down with Riley and told him…everything. All of their plans, the way they hoped Riley would grow up. She should have asked for his input, listened to his suggestions.

She should have told him she loved him with every part of her heart, just as much as she loved those children she never got to know. She should have done that this morning, when Riley looked stricken at the news of a baby. When he'd murmured his congratulations softly, disappointed, and Abigail was too happy about the new baby, pure, untarnished, on its way, to care.

* * *

Riley stood outside of the court house, breathing hard. Part of running away was running towards something, and Riley had no place to go. That's why he'd left in the first place.

He knew, as he walked down the unfamiliar side-streets that made up this town's main district, that he was behaving like a child. He knew that he should just take whatever sentence the court dolled out, because he couldn't fight them. How could he? He was fourteen, outmuscled, bespectacled. He looked like a geek and spoke like a frightened boy.

But he was _tired_. He was tired of living with Pop, who had turned him into a punching bag and worse, who had taken away any part of him that might have been innocent and soft and pure. He was tired of being hungry and sick and in pain. He was tired of aching joints every time he stood up, because his body was broken along with his soul. He was tired of having no friends, no one to talk to.

And with Ben and Abigail, he'd felt welcomed. Wanted. Loved, even. Especially Ben, who had seemed so pleased when Riley had organized all of his loose data onto a hard drive, who talked to him at night when the terrors came, invariably making him wake up screaming. Ben held him close and talked to him softly.

But then they wanted the baby, and Riley understood that, he really did. He didn't really want to hang out with himself, either. And he'd been imagining just this scenario for months now, of when Ben and Abby told him that they were adopting a baby. Except, in those dreams, they'd always said they wanted to adopt Riley, too.

Darrel, who laughed with Riley about their idiotic Comp-Sci teacher and taught him to write Python for the RPG, had once said that Riley was so lucky to get to live with the famous Gates and stay in their cool house. He obviously didn't know that Riley was the most unlucky boy on the planet.

Just then, as if to prove Riley's point, rain began to pour down on the streets, as if the sky had suddenly become too full to hold that kind of emotion.

**Still haven't decided whether to be nice to Riley or not. Depends on what mood I'm in for the next chapter. **

**I was thinking about a sequel, where Pop takes his revenge out of Riley. Kind of nasty stuff, but it'll make an interesting fic. Any suggestions? Obviously, it won't be written until this one ends. We're not nearly there yet. **

**As always, please review. **


	14. Best Laid Plans

"_So you think you can tell, Heaven from Hell? Blue skies from pain? Can you tell a green field from a cool steal rail? A smile from a veil? Do you think you can tell?"__** Pink Floyd, Riley's favorite band**_

It's a miserable thing to be wet, because your clothes and hair start sticking to parts of your body that really shouldn't have anything stuck to them. It's worst when its windy, which it was that day, when Riley was walking down the street away from the court house.

And, of course, being cold didn't help. And, in Pennsylvania near Christmas, it was _freezing. _Riley crossed his arms, bowed his head, and attempted to find shelter. Unfortunately, he'd already walked out of the center of town and was surrounded by houses enclosed with picket fences.

Through his discomfort, anger, loneliness, and the mind-numbing cold, Riley felt himself becoming intrigued by these small fortresses. One had a sagging roof, cracked paint, broken steps, and a multitude of peculiar red flowers that bloomed even in the fierce weather. Another had a swing set in the middle of the driveway, while the one beside it had a basketball hoop and the one next to that, a trampoline.

In one yard, children's toys were scattered like seeds trying to attract exotic birds. With a glance, Riley knew that this house had at least two children. There was a doll's house that was decorated in Batman stickers, a blue plastic tricycle with distinctly feminine streamers on the handlebars.

Weird, that Riley had never wanted a sibling before meeting the Gates'. He would never have wished another child into his predicament, would never have wished a little girl go through beatings, or a tiny boy be starved. He would lie awake at nights, grimly happy that it was only he, Riley, who could be hurt, and not some younger, more vulnerable pawn.

But then, in a month, Riley had come to learn that a baby could mean more than sorrow, fear. A child, a sibling, could be someone he taught things to. How to walk, and write, and use computers. How to make friends. How to love people who were good to them, and how to make toast and eggs. How to protect themselves, so they'd never have to know the pain so bad you wished you were dead just so it would stop.

It wasn't often that Riley was disappointed by something. When you had no expectations, it was easy to surpass them. But he had really thought, getting to know Abigail, and, especially, Ben in the past month, that they might love him just as much as he loved them. That they might want him.

Which is why he was so devastatingly disappointed when Abigail had breezed into the dining room, poured him juice, and gushed about the baby they were getting in three weeks. On December 24th, as a Christmas present. And as she described the Gates' and their perfect child, Riley knew that he wouldn't fit into the equation anymore.

He'd said it in the courtroom, in as simple words as possible. _I love them_. He loved Ben and Abigail in a way he never thought he could love anybody, much less adults. Adults were untrustworthy, turning blind eyes to Riley's obvious plight. But with that couple, that amazing couple, Riley felt at home.

What did it matter, what the judge ruled? Ben and Abby were giving him up in a week or two to Child Services. Within a few months or a year, the gig would once again be up for Pop, and Riley would be carted away from _there_.

He really didn't belong anywhere. Or, it seemed, the only place he belonged was in the system, shuffled between houses until he fell off the grid or was kicked out at eighteen.

Riley stared straight up into the sky and sneezed loudly, shivering even more. He hadn't found shelter from the wind or cold, but a large rock next to a roaring stream blocked the worst of the rain. The clouds were a dark, impersonal gray, and somewhere behind them there was a God who had ignored Riley his whole life.

"Let them love me." Riley said, although that sounded stupid, even to his own ears. "Let them…remember me." At this point, he was just so _tired_ of it all. He was tired of having nightmares of being with his father, of the impending doom that he might be going back to his father. He was tired of trying to be polite around everyone he came across, so someone might one day want him. He was tired of the constant ache emanating from each of his bones, every part of his heart.

The roaring stream grew still louder, Riley sneezed again, rubbed his sleeve over his soaked face, and tilted his head when he thought he heard a call. An answer, perhaps? But Divine Powers had never spoken to him before, and Riley had a feeling that if they started now, it would be enough to declare him mentally incompetent.

No longer caring if he was going to be getting wet, Riley crawled out of the shelter of the rock and instead began to climb up on the stone until he was perched precariously on the top, balancing above the stream.

Ben and Abby didn't want him, maybe never had. All those times Riley had thought they were bonding had been lies. Pop had hated him from the moment he was born, and had never let Riley forget it. Darrel had been a calm eye in the storm of Riley's life, a constant anchor, but now Riley was doubting even him. Had Darrel just been being a Good Samaritan to the new foster kid?

Looking into the swirling depths of the stream, bone cold, shaking, dripping wet, every bone hurting all the more because of the rain, Riley wondered if he wasn't better off just jumping in. He had never before been suicidal, not even when things with Pop had reached Rock Bottom, had gone even lower than that.

Back then, his dream had been that someone would rescue him, that he'd be placed with a new family, a loving one. He'd gotten everything he'd wished for, and somehow he'd managed to screw that up, too.

He hung his feet over the edge, swinging them, noticing how skinny they were. Riley Poole was not a looker. It was not as if the world would be missing out on a handsome man, or a brilliant genius. It wasn't as if anyone would miss him.

* * *

The ruling came just after Riley had left the building. Abigail had cried when she heard that we'd be allowed to keep Riley. Ben, on the other hand, clenched his jaw in anger when he heard that 'Pop' would only be getting ten years in jail, would only have to serve four before he was eligible for parole. If it was his choice…well, hanging wasn't that outdated.

But before they'd really had a chance to digest this news, Stephanie had come up them, worry dripping from her. She had gone after Riley, ignoring the judge, just wanting to make sure he was okay. But it had begun to rain and she'd lost sight of him.

Ben threw on his coat and hurried out the door, leaving the women to bundle into the car. Ben was going on scent, on gut instincts. Riley wasn't far.

Ben followed the meandering streets until he came into a residential area. The rain was getting into his eyes, and made it hard to see more than ten feet in front of him. "Riley!" But the wind ripped the word out of his mouth as soon as he said it, tossing it back the way he'd come. Still, shouting was something. "Riley!"

This time, it wasn't the wind that drowned out Ben's desperate call. It was heavier…a stream, one that cut down straight from the Appalachians. "Riley!"

Except that this wasn't some wild call, a shot in the dark. This time, Ben could see the tiny figure of the boy perched so precariously on the rock over-looking the stream. Ben ran forward, half-slipping in his eagerness to get to the boy, his son. "Riley!"

Finally, the boy heard him, and turned. But Riley could see even less than Ben, his glasses fogged and smudged by the rain. He was coat-less and shivering. He looked in Ben's direction, tilting his head uncertainly. One hand came up in a sort of half-wave.

And then, as if that was all that had been keeping him up, he slipped into the stream and out of sight.

**Come on, there really haven't been any cliffies so far. You had to know that one was coming up.**

**So, how was depressed/suicidal Riley? Too much? Too little? On target? Review!**


	15. Mercy

_Where your treasure is, there your heart shall be also. __**Matthew 6:21**_

The whole thing happened in slow motion to Ben and even decades later he'd be able to remember those few horrible minutes after Riley slid off the rock.

He didn't think until later about his own safety. He never looked around for the car that held Stephanie and Abigail, which had driven in the opposite direction. He never took out his cell phone to dial 9-1-1. He never even took off his clothes as he dove into the below-freezing water.

What he did do was think about Riley. Riley, who confessed to Ben that he had once made up a family heritage and country of origin (Ireland) for a project in school to avoid a zero, because he didn't want to ask his dad. Riley, who could de-bug Ben's computer faster than the Geek Squad guys. Riley, who would spend whole evenings playing Star Wars Trivial Pursuit with Darrel, who had gotten him hooked on the movies in a month, and win (the alien Han shot in _A New Hope_ was called Greedo).

Riley, who woke up from nightmares and flinched when he saw Ben in his bed. Riley, who couldn't stand to be in a room alone with a strange man. Riley, who was brave enough to tell a courtroom that he loved Ben and Abigail, even though the couple had never told him the same thing. Riley.

And, as he dove clumsily into the water and came up, sputtering, looking for the form he'd seen just seconds before, Ben realized something stunning and profound. He couldn't live without Riley. It was that simple. Just as he couldn't live without Abigail, just as it hurt to not be able to give the love of his life the children she so desired, so it hurt to watch Riley plummet into the water.

"Riley!" He shouted, though his lungs had seemed to fold in on themselves as soon as he touched the water. He coughed at the effort, a numbness already beginning to fill his body. "Riley!"

There was a shape up ahead and Ben swam towards it only to find it was a rock. Another shape, another rock. "Riley!"

He prayed for a sound, and answer, anything to reassure him hat Riley was still above the water, still fighting for every ounce of air he could get. He prayed to a God who had created an optimistic, brilliant, generous boy and gave him a monster for a father.

And for a second, he was sure that the Lord had answered his prayers, because for just one second it was as if the rain stood still, or Ben saw past it, to see a boy floating face down ten yards downstream. Then the rain started again, and Ben swam.

The current put him within a yard of Riley, where Ben was just able to snag his shirt before being dragged further. Using every one of his muscles, which were bunched tight and tense from the cold, Ben began slowly, painfully, to head for the shore.

"Stay with me, Riley!" Ben couldn't tell if Riley was breathing. He needed to get to shore, he needed to check to see if Riley was okay. If he was alive. Every movement was an effort for Ben, but he kept one arm around Riley's neck, keeping the boy's head above water, doing all he could.

The water raged around him, over him, oblivious to the plight of the two people trapped within it. The cold, the rain, the water, all helped to make a certain numbness within Ben so that when he began to cry in earnest he only noticed it because it made his lungs even tighter, and when land suddenly came up underneath him, he didn't notice until his chest was stinging in the winter air.

He dragged Riley from the water and turned him over the bank. The boy was blue; his face and hands and lips a uniform dead color. "No…" Ben whispered, adrenaline fueling him at this point. He didn't feel the cold, just sorrow, and the pain of losing someone who should never have been misplaced. "No.."

He checked for a pulse and, not finding one, bent his head over the boy's trying to remember Freshman year health class. He'd never taken CPR lessons. Never had the time. He barely remembered to pinch Riley's nose and, by then, his hands were shaking. He breathed out, felt Riley's lungs expand, then switched over to pumping his chest.

"You can't die." Ben said, his words coming out terrified. He was terrified. For years he had thought that the most important thing in his life was the Templar treasure. It had been his dream, his life's work. And now that he was "retired", he found that his life hadn't even begun.

Because, suddenly, nothing was more precious than this boy, lifeless in front of him. Nothing was more valuable, more worth saving. "Come on Riley," Ben coughed and water came out. He ignored it, felt like if he kept talking Riley might start to listen. Might wake up from this terrible sleep.

"You know, you never told me how you ended up on the top of the Foster Care list. I can guess. You're a brilliant boy, Riley." Ben had never said that out loud, though he'd thought it every day. He wondered if anyone had ever told Riley he was brilliant, or wonderful, or special. Probably not.

That was the first time that suicide was even a blip on his radar, and when the idea entered, he rejected it immediately. Not Riley, who was so upbeat and helpful and caring, who could list the first hundred prime numbers without breaking a sweat, who had memorized the prelude of _Romeo and Juliet_. Riley wouldn't, couldn't commit suicide, because he was Ben's.

And yet…how many times had Ben shaken his head at the things Riley didn't know about? He'd never gone bowling or to the beach. He'd never eaten ice cream or seen a baseball game. He'd never had a turkey dinner or gone to the movies. Instead, he'd been beaten and starved and raped for the first fourteen years of his life, and had taken it so quietly that it took _that long_ for teachers to catch on.

Maybe Riley was a prime candidate for suicide. Maybe the real question was why he hadn't attempted it earlier. But to Ben, the perfectionist, the treasure protected, the historian, suicide was not an option.

"You aren't checking out on me yet." Ben vowed, his voice coming out low, wobbly. "You can't do this to me." He blew another breath into Riley's body only to see the air rush back out as soon as he leaned away.

Another fifty compression, and Ben was crying in earnest, big, heaving sobs that racked the man's body and made it impossible for him to see. Crying for a boy who hadn't cried often enough for the life he'd been given, a boy that had wormed his way into Ben's heart, even if he had sworn that he would never like a teenager.

A boy who was, perhaps, too good for this Earth.

"You can't leave me," Ben sobbed, his tears mixing with the rain, mixing with the stupid stream, washed into the ocean. "You can't leave. I love you."

In a movie, that would have been enough. Love was supposed to be enough, if you loved hard enough. That's how it was supposed to work. But even when Ben let the confession out from his lips. Riley remained still. Looked even more blue, if that was possible.

"No." Ben said, Sunday School prayers leaking automatically from his lips. _Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be Thy name. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done. _He pressed down on Riley's chest, trying to find the rhythm, willing his heart to beat. _On Earth as it is in Heaven._ Riley had to come back, he had to. Because Ben had so much to tell him. _Give us this day our daily bread. _He wanted Riley to be an older brother, to see the joy of raising a child right. _And forgive our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us. _Ben wanted Riley to smile at him and laugh and leave sticky notes everywhere. He wanted Riley._ And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. _

Amen.

**I know, I am the meanest person alive. **

**As always, please, please review. **


	16. Life

_Lost was the child we all once did hide. There but for the Grace of God go I._

There are times in people's lives when you reevaluate your life's goal. A college-bound teen can be brought back to his house by the death of his parents. A woman can head for a large city, pursuing dreams a familiar small-town cannot grant.

A man can learn that a treasure a thousand years old is not nearly as important as a helpless teen. A woman can realize that perhaps the children she'd lost can be replaced. A boy can escape from a terrible situation to find himself in a place that's almost like home.

Of course, even the best intentions, even when you find true love, make it to the top of the mountain, overcome the worst obstacle, there can still be hardship. There can still be tragedy.

Ben Gates bent over the body of Riley and continued CPR to the best of his ability, prayers he thought he'd forgotten years ago leaking from his lips. He'd gone through Hail Mary and Our Father and was on to the shortest prayer he knew, a memoriam for a short life.

_Glory be to the Father_…except that Ben hated Riley's father, hated the way that he licked his lips when he saw Riley, hated that he'd only gotten three years in prison for ruining this boy's life. _And to the son…_Riley, who'd taught him how to love, who'd gotten Ben to live in the present, to hope for the future. Riley. _And to the Holy Spirit_….and this was a prayer, for Riley to come back, to stay with Ben, to live. _As it was in the beginning is now and ever shall be…_one compression, two, three, breathe. _World without end, Amen. _Please, help.

There was still no pulse, no breath, and perhaps no miracle was coming. Maybe one didn't deserve to come, not for the old grouch who thought he deserved a savior. "Riley!" He was out of prayers. He was devoid of hope. He had no more Riley.

The rain bounced off of Riley's face, hit his cold, cold skin, made mud beneath his body. Ben brushed the rain from Riley's hand, a futile effort, as he was drenched, and Riley was drenched, but just as he touched Riley's hand, it twitched, and as Ben's mouth closed around the boy's, about to blow one more breath of life into the child's still body, his air was blown back.

Words were useless. Ben pulled Riley onto his lap, tears streaming faster down his cheeks as one hand pounded the boy's back. For his part Riley grasped Ben's shirt, his eyes didn't open, and it was as if he was a child, surrendering himself completely to the older man, trusting him not to let go as he coughed and shivered and cried.

The EMTs got there in time to see Riley open his eyes for the first time since dying. They were there to take a statement from Ben which said, improbably, that Riley had been dead for three minutes before he inexplicably came back to life. The EMTs were there when Abi threw herself in the mud beside the two boys, shouting, crying, hugging them even as these same EMTs were taking Riley away.

"We have to raise his body temperature!" They called over the tempest, which raged, ignoring the men that were tugging on Riley's body.

"Ben!" Riley had never called his name like that, like he was hoping that Ben would save him, like he looked on the man as a hero. "Ben!"

And what could the man do? What could _anyone_ do? He leapt forward, grabbed Riley's hands, held on tight. "It'll be okay, Riley!" But he _didn't _know of it would be okay. He knew nothing at all, except that Riley was young and scared and hurt. And though Riley couldn't see anything, although his glasses were lost and his eyes were unfocused, the boy held his hand tight, and didn't let go.

He didn't speak another word on the way to the hospital; Riley had drifted into unconsciousness, though the paramedics assured Ben that this was more from exhaustion then hypothermia. Ben didn't know whether to believe them, but did anyway. And he never stopped holding Riley's hand, even after the boy was asleep, resting, shivering with cold and terrible nightmares.

Ben stroked Riley's hair and tried to stay out of the way of the EMTs. "I always wanted you, buddy." He assured the boy. "Always." He hoped Riley knew that. He hoped that the boy could understand.

"He fell in the river?" One of the men asked, not really question, "And you pulled him out?" Ben was still stuck, still mute. He didn't talk, just clutched the blanket closer to him. He was shivering, too, though he was stubbornly insisting to himself that it was because of the cold, not Riley's death.

"You did a good job." Another man said, a large hand descending on Ben's shoulder. "If your son had some more meat on his bones, he probably would have been fine." He was telling Ben that he'd done nothing wrong, that he'd picked the best course of action.

He'd also assumed that Riley was his son.

_He almost wasn't_. Ben thought, brushing one thumb over Riley's hair. But he was trying to forget about Riley, dying in his arms, Riley's face and arms turning blue, Riley, not speaking, not breathing, no pulse. He tried to forget, but knew, even then, that those memories would forever be burned onto his mind, into his soul.

The hospital was a blur, watching Abigail send Stephanie away to call Ben's parents, watching doctors and nurses bend over Riley's body. He himself was being tended; there was an IV drip in his arm, and a blanket slung around his shoulder. But he wouldn't allow them to cart him away, to leave the room.

"Hey, Riley." Riley was asleep, a real sleep that didn't involve unconsciousness. The doctors had told Ben and Abigail that the teen would be able to be released by morning, that they wanted to make sure, make quite sure that Riley was okay, and that the Gates wouldn't sue.

Ben rubbed Riley's fingers between his own. They weren't like ice anymore, they weren't blue, but even in sleep they twitched around Ben's fingers. Blue eyes fluttered open and one hand automatically scuttled to his side, searching for glasses.

"Here, kiddo." Abigail, sweet, sweet Abigail, had found an extra pair. Riley's hand trembled as they caught the glasses and slipped them onto his face. He was tiny, pale, bruised, and hurt. He stared up at Ben, questions in his eyes, and the old, simple apology.

"I'm sorry." His voice was a croak. "I'm sorry," he was trembling, tears wetting his newly dry cheeks.

"For what, Riley?" Ben kept his voice deliberately soft even as his mind whirled. It was he who was in the wrong here, for not clarifying to a child who'd miraculously loved without being taught how to that people did not automatically reject him when a newer, younger, cleaner model came out.

Riley's hands twisted out of Ben's larger ones and he seemed to shrink until the bed swallowed him. "I know it's wrong…a sin." He was crying in earnest, tears coming thick and fast as his voice became deeper, hoarser. "Pop said I was going to Hell anyway…"

"Did you try to kill yourself, Riley?" Ben asked quietly. He'd been trying to convince himself otherwise, that perhaps Riley had slipped, that he'd been near the stream just waiting for Ben to find him.

Shaking his head, Riley murmured, "No…maybe I was going to. I was…thinking about it." He smiled a little, which only made him look smaller. "I saw you…and I fell."

Ben smoothed back Riley's hair. "You're not going to Hell, Riley." He assured the boy, making a note that there was one more thing to hate Riley's father for. "You're the most interesting, kind, wonderful boy I've ever met." He was not touchy-feely. Not really. But when someone you cared for, someone you loved, died and came back to life, all of your usual characteristics went out the window.

"I love you, Riley, and Abigail does to. You are not going to Hell. You're not going anywhere." Riley must have understood the point that he was trying to get across, because his face lit up and he kept staring, incredulously, at Ben.

And then, for the first time in a month, for the first time in his life, Riley reached up and hugged a man of his own volition, sure that this one, at least, would protect him.

**So we're nearing the end of this…maybe a sequel?**

**As always, please review.**


	17. The Most Wonderful Time

"_Don't you know that you are a shooting star? And all the world will love you just as long as you are a shooting star." __**Bad Company**_

The baby was an early Christmas present.

Ben, Abigail, and Riley waited impatiently in the lobby of the hospital as the birth mother panted and groaned in her room. Riley was better, still too thin, still too pale, but he had a new pair of glasses and a new outfit. Ben had explained these as an early Christmas present.

Riley's adoption would be completed around the same time as the new baby's. In six months, the Gates would have, not one, but two new children.

"I still think we should name it Java." Riley muttered, grinning up at Ben. They had perhaps an hour before the birth and they still couldn't agree on a name. "It works for boys_ and_ girls."

"No way." Ben said. He was pacing, anxious, and it was making Riley dizzy. "It should be Charlotte. That name means a lot to the Gates family."

"And if it's a boy?" Abigail challenged.

"Charles. Charlie."

Abigail sighed, her hands twisting in her lap. She wished that she was the one in the room, she wished she was given birth. She'd gone through all the motions of 'nesting' as it was called. She'd painted the baby's room, gotten it furnished. They'd been going over endless lists of baby names.

And in between all this, she'd been taking care of Riley who, after being confined to the hospital for three feverish days, was let out, a week before Christmas, still sporting pneumonia.

She had stumbled over the boy, watching _Star Wars_ in the dark of the night. He was staring at the screen, watching Leia bend over and kiss her brother (it always made Abigail cringe to watch that scene) and asked her, quietly, "What if it doesn't like me?"

Abigail hadn't even known that Riley was aware of her presence, but she knew exactly what he was talking about. She was worried about that, too. What if the baby knew, instinctively, that she wasn't its mother? "They're going to love you, Ri. You're going to be an amazing big brother."

He snorted, a derisive, sudden sound for such a normally soft-spoken boy. "Yeah, big help I am. Running out in the middle of a case. Too cowardly to tell someone by dad was raping me every night." It was the first time he'd said it out loud, and Abigail felt her heart break a little at the words. She patted her way across the room and sat next to him on the couch, resisting the urge to reach out and hold him.

"You're strong and brave and can fix computers faster than I can use them. Who wouldn't love you?" Except for his father, and though Abigail didn't say those words out loud she knew that Riley heard them anyway, was already thinking it.

Han was acting affronted, jealous, and Riley muted the movie, "I don't want to hurt the baby. I don't want to give it the thoughts I have." He didn't want to contaminate something as innocent, as simple as a baby. He didn't want to make it dirty.

Abigail's voice came out soft, sweet. "Oh, honey, you won't." She touched his shoulder, drew him close. "You'll be the perfect brother." She hugged him, felt him wrap his arms around her, felt Riley hug her back.

"What about Grace?" She asked the room. Ben looked at her, tilted his head. "Or Faith?"

"Hope." Ben suggested. "Charity."

"Those are all girl's names." Riley pointed out. They were quiet for a second before Riley murmured, "How about Salvation? Mercy?" Abigail noticed that her and Ben's names had been characteristics they hoped the child would grow into, while Riley's were prayers, crosses to bare.

Things kept going on that note. Ben suggested _Peace_, _Justice_, and _Liberty_. Abigail liked _Chastity_ and _Angel_. Riley kept coming up with them: _Noel. Melody. Lyric. Karma. Patience._ From there it went on to Biblical names, strong ones for boys, like _Peter_ and _David_. Holy names for girls; _Sarah, Mary, Rebecca, Marie_. They passed on to family names. All of the mothers; the baby's birth mother Claire, Ben's mother Emily, Abigail's, Hannah, Riley's mom Amanda. They focused on girls' names, though no one had said that they thought the sex would be female. They all just assumed, knew that it could be nothing else.

Finally, when they were called down to the nursery, saw the baby wiggling in her pink bassinette, all three people looked at each other and nodded.

When they walked out of the hospital the next day, the baby Riley was carrying in his arms was named after the only thing the three had felt while staring at her through the window. Joy.

*

It was the happiest Christmas Riley could remember. He woke up to the smell of gingerbread, the soft strains of _The Christmas Song_ piping into his bed room. He squirmed into a pair of slippers and hurried across the cold wood floor, aiming for the kitchen.

A baby's cry was the most beautiful thing he'd ever heard. For a moment he stopped short, staring at the people in the kitchen. A beautiful couple. A baby girl. Joy. It was a complete family without him. For minute, he thought about staying there, on the side, not wanting to disturb the easy familiarity of the scene.

"Come on, Riley. I made French toast." Things had not become automatically fine since that day at court. Riley still jumped when Ben addressed him. He still smiled, painfully thankful for a thing as simple as a meal.

By the time Riley had sat down with the breakfast, Joy had stopped crying and was sucking happily on a bottle, her tiny lips pursed with concentration. Ben sat next to Riley, saw him looking at the baby, and smiled. "Isn't she beautiful?"

"Yeah."

"Are you excited to be a big brother?" Ben asked, knowing that Riley was probably terrified. The kid was always afraid he'd somehow do something to screw everything up. As if he could ever do anything terrible. Anyway, he shrugged at Ben's question, not really answering.

They sat in silence for a while. Ben stared at Riley staring at Abigail staring at Joy. Riley's face was flushed and he automatically checked for fever. "I'm fine, Ben." Riley muttered, jerking away before the older man could get a good read.

"You want to get our present, honey?" Abigail asked, never taking her eyes off the baby. Ben nodded, moving to a back room. Riley took the opportunity to race back upstairs to grab his own gifts.

He was just lugging down his laptop when he saw a flash of fur. He hurried down the last few steps, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste to get back into the kitchen. Again, he stopped in the doorway, his mouth ajar. "No way!" he shouted, surprised, happy beyond belief.

Ben was on the kitchen floor, holding onto a squirming German Sheppard puppy. The dog was no more than eight weeks old, its ears still floppy. When it saw Riley it gave a little yip and wagged its tail. Riley had always wanted a dog, admiring them for their loyalty, their ability to generate heat even on the coldest of nights.

He put the equipment on the kitchen table before taking the puppy into his arms, letting it kiss his chin, his forehead. "I..don't even know what to say. Thank you."

"It's a girl." Ben said easily. "She doesn't have a name yet." While Riley thought about that, Ben continued, "The girls are outnumbering the boys, huh Riley? Abigail and Joy and now this puppy."

"That's okay." Riley murmured, petting the dog carefully, running his hands over her. She was mostly black, but he knew that as she grew she'd get more grey and brown. He thought of the names they'd suggested back at the hospital, but none of them really fit. "How about Musetta?" he asked, looking at the dog. "What do you think? Musetta. Muse for short." She cocked her head to one side and licked Riley again. Ben laughed.

"That's a great name, kiddo." Ben put his hand on Riley's back and he flinched automatically, arching his back as a bruise was hit. Things were getting better, but perhaps things would never be exactly normal around Riley. Changing the subject --- Riley looked as if he were about to apologize --- Ben asked, quickly, "What's with the equipment?"

"Oh." Riley set the dog down on the tile, watched her skid around for a second before curling into a dainty ball and yawning. "I found some photo albums a while ago." He touched a key and a slide show began, names and dates appearing at the bottom of the faded pictures.

"I thought it'd be better on here, so they don't get so…old looking. The names and stuff came from the backs of the pictures." He looked up at Ben, over at Abigail. "I hope you like it."

Ben smiled, looped at arm around the boy and pulled him close. For a second Riley tensed under him before melting into the embrace. The teen sighed, as if he could finally rest, knowing he was in Ben's arms.

"Merry Christmas, Ben." He murmured, voice muffled by the fabric of the shirt.

"Merry Christmas, Riley."

**The end.**

**Aw, come on, that was a cute ending. It was angsty the whole time. They deserve a little happiness.**

**Until I start the next story. The sequel will be up…within two weeks. So stay tuned and, as always, please review.**


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